


I'll Let You Wear My Sweater

by hazzayoudoing



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Holidays, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Oral Sex, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzayoudoing/pseuds/hazzayoudoing
Summary: “Told you, I do love my wine. You’ll have to come over here and get it,” Harry says with a playful smile, chugging back more of the wine. Louis feels the distinct raise of goosebumps on his skin as he gets on his knees and leans forward to grab the bottle from Harry. He stops to wonder what people would think from the outside looking in. All those posh neighbors of Gemma’s might think he and Harry are together, what with the way his breath hitches as he leans over Harry and gazes into his eyes. He gets so close to him, he can make out the faint blushed red ring around Harry’s lips.
   “I’ll be taking what’s rightfully mine, love. As the guest, I do get full run of the booze in the house. You’re just the brother. So unexpected,” Louis whispers, firmly pulling on the neck of the bottle. Harry releases it easily and Louis reels back on his heels to give himself one last pour.    “Unexpected good or unexpected bad?” Harry asks. Or, a Christmas fic that finds Louis escaping to LA to nurse a heartbreak and falling stupidly in love with Harry. It's The Holiday meets Christmas With the Kranks with a dash of Love Actually, I guess!





	1. Chapter 1

**1**

 

It’s not even the pretty kind of snow, the kind that Louis absolutely adores when the weather gods manage to really get it right. Fittingly, it’s the kind that seeps into your bones and chills you to the core and leaves you gasping for air. The kind that spits ice and rain and turns to sludge the instant it hits the pavement. 

Louis sighs as he stares out the window of his first story flat, pressing his hand to the frozen glass. He people watches for a while, seeing families bustling by, loaded up with packages wrapped in cherry reds and glittering golds. The happy scenes are making him teary, but he knows he can’t turn around yet. Can’t face it.

Behind him, in his very empty flat, lie the remains of his failed relationship. Edwin split in such a rush and left most of his belongings behind, all the things that remind Louis of the most painful exchange of his life. A pair of joggers balled up next to the couch are the ones Louis bought him for his birthday. They’d fucked once before midnight, sloppily eating cake in their bed and licking icing off each other’s skin. 

An orange toothbrush still sits next to Louis’ blue one in the bathroom, like it belongs there. Mornings spent together, both of them getting ready for work, having spitting contests in the sink before Edwin would jog to the kitchen and fry up bacon. They had their routine, and now, Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stares out the window a little longer, only being wrenched away by the sound of his phone. He checks the screen, and sees that it’s his sister Lottie calling again for the fourth time this morning.

“You don’t have to keep checking up on me. I’m fine,” Louis says, his voice hoarse from all the shouting he did last night. Edwin had come home drunk, the smell of a different cologne on him. Louis had been waiting to put up the Christmas tree with him, had spent his afternoon flitting from store to store picking up ornaments that he knew Edwin would love. 

The ornaments sat in a box in their living room. He had been lying on the couch in the dark, growing more frustrated as the night had gone on. Edwin had slinked in around 2:30. He stumbled into their flat, giggling to himself and freezing when he made out Louis in the shadows.

“Where were you?” Louis had asked, his voice wobbly. The Christmas tree lay on the floor completely unassembled. Louis had been nursing a whiskey for a while, taking little sips as the night went on. Edwin swayed on his feet. Louis had stood up and padded over to him, nearly knocked out by the stench of alcohol and something else—something foreign.

“Was out. Told you, me and the gents from work had a few pints,” Edwin slurred.

“Looks like more than a few, love. We were supposed to put up the tree together. You knew about it. What’s that smell? I don’t recognize the cologne,” Louis whispered. Beer breath fanned over his face, making him recoil. Edwin placed a hand on his cheek and squinted at him.

“It’s nobody… it’s... let’s just go sleep,” Edwin had begun. Louis took a step back, breath hitching and a tight feeling in his chest.

“ _ Nobody _ ? You expect me to believe you? Tell me where you really were tonight. What aren’t you telling me here?” Louis asked, his voice rising. He felt manic, like he was on the verge of discovering something very dangerous, some tiny particle of truth he didn’t want to uncover. And that was when the bomb dropped, when his shiny little life was burst into bits. 

Louis hears Lottie on the other end of the phone, yammering on about taking time for self-care and telling him exactly how Edwin can go fuck himself.

“Lottie, he’s gone. He cheated, I caught him, I kicked him out… he’s fucking gone. I’m staring around my flat, and everything reminds me of him. He left his bloody matcha tea on the counter. There’s photos of us everywhere. I can’t do this,” Louis says, tears rolling down his cheeks and drenching his jumper. 

“Come out to the house here in Donny. Christmas is a few days away still, and mum would be thrilled if you came early. You know we’d all love to see you. I’ll even take you out for drinks, every night. My treat,” Lottie says, her voice warm and thoughtful on the other end of the line. Louis hangs his head and looks mournfully around his flat. It smells stale, like he’s been cooped up for days and not merely hours. Edwin had moved his things out just this morning and Lottie was the first person Louis had called.

“I want nothing to do with Christmas, Lottie. Not this year. Too depressed,” he says, wandering through the empty rooms of his flat and whacking a few framed photos off the wall as he goes. The weather outside continues to be shit, and Louis wants to fast-forward his life, skip all the shiny and wonderful parts of the holiday season and transport himself firmly into sad January territory. January’s the perfect time to wallow and be lonely. He can stay in his pajamas all day and cry into his Yorkshire, gorging himself on biscuits until he reaches at least March. Then, when spring comes, he can start life anew and try to get Edwin back. 

“Being around family will make you feel better,” Lottie says. He can hear some whirring in the background, and Lottie barks an order for a Peppermint Mocha to someone out of range. She’s been manager of  _ Love You A Latte _ for the last two years, building up a devoted customer base out in Doncaster where she lives with his other sister, Fizzy. 

“Trust me, being around the Tomlinson brood is the last thing I need. I’m sorry, Phoebe and Daisy are very cute, but even their gorgeous little faces won’t pick me up from this,” Louis says. He can picture the holiday hell he’d be dipped into if he were to travel out to Donny and shack up with his family for a few weeks. All the women, all the opinions, all the food being shoved in his face.

His mum would be fussing over him, constantly trying to fix his chakras from one of her new yoga classes or a page out of her new favorite self-help book. Fiz would make snide remarks during dinner about Edwin, probably would go on about how much she loathed him. The twins would gleefully shake him down for their holiday gifts early, and he’d never get a moment's peace to himself.

“Mum will kill you if you aren’t here for Christmas, Lou,” Lottie says.

“Fuck Christmas. Christmas can go to hell this year. I need a vacation, is what I  _ need _ . Away from London, away from this fucking flat. I’ve got time off from work. Me and Edwin were supposed to jet out to Majorca after the holidays,” Louis says, his voice getting a little sentimental. He rubs at his eyes again, walks into the bedroom and flings himself on the sheets of his bed. God, even they smell of Edwin.

“I’ve got to get back to the register. Please, Louis. Just take care of yourself and come out to Doncaster for the holidays like a normal big brother. We can get you through this together. Breakups suck, but Edwin was kind of a douche anyway. And honestly, you can do better,” Lottie says. The voice that was once so soothing has now infuriated Louis. He murmurs a quick goodbye and then throws his phone against the wall, feeling satisfied when the case hits the wall with a large thud and breaks off into pieces. He stares up at the ceiling, rage boiling in his veins with every second that passes.

He rolls off the bed and grabs his laptop and phone, heading for the living room. He sits down heavily on the couch, kicking Edwin’s joggers under the cushions and out of sight. He turns the telly on while he fires up his computer, clicking through one holiday movie after the next.

“Too cheerful,” he murmurs, changing the channel. “Too happy, too cheesy, too much falling in love and happy endings. Those don’t exist, you wankers,” he yells at the movie playing now. Some total idiot is holding up signs, confessing his true love to a beautiful woman while glittering Christmas lights twinkle in the background. 

“Love is dead,” Louis whispers as he gets onto his laptop. He cruises around Google for a while, occasionally typing odd things like ‘ **how to kill your ex and get away with it** ’ and ‘ **lonely man seeks endless pasta buffet London** .’ Louis cries a little more, thinking of Majorca and all the money he’ll lose by not going on the trip. It’s pathetic. Him, a grown man, sobbing on his couch. He checks their hotel reservations and the flight, pleasantly surprised that all they’ve got on the books right now is a deposit. Nothing’s even been charged yet. He calls up the travel agent that Edwin used, knowing he’s probably trying to reach her at the busiest time.

“Hello, yes, I’m looking to cancel my holiday. You see, my arsehole of a boyfriend cheated on me, so the trip will no longer be necessary,” Louis says, all the tears gone and now replaced by anger.

“Sir, I’ll need the name on the reservation. Cancellations are tough right before the holidays. The best I might be able to do is reroute you somewhere else,” the travel agent says. Louis grits his teeth, wondering if the agent would be willing to ship him off to Antarctica for the holidays.

“Reservation was under Edwin Baumer, otherwise known as Total Dickhead,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. Louis can feel a headache coming on. “Sorry, still salty. My name is Louis Tomlinson, and I can give you my card number if you need it,” Louis says, drumming his fingers along the suede of his couch. While he’s on hold, he takes another look out the window of his flat. Louis is sad to see that the disgusting snow display outside his window has made way to boring rain now. Any hope of magic is now gone. It doesn’t even feel like Christmas anymore.

“Found you. Looks like you’re lucking out. The cancellation window closes in another five days. I can fully refund the trip... unless Mr. Baumer used his own credit card?” the agent asks. 

“I let him use mine, actually. Was a bit of a freeloader, that one. You know how it is, don’t you? You get caught up, the relationship’s new and you think ‘ _ Perfect, this is it. He will be the one I end up marrying and having oodles of babies with _ .’ But then he goes and cheats on you, and now I’m so happy I didn’t let him convince me to do joint bank accounts,” Louis says, rambling away while the agent makes a few affirmative noises.

“I’m sorry about your breakup, love. Hard around the holidays, innit? So I can just transfer the money back to you and that might be it, but…” the agent says, her voice softening. Louis closes his eyes, forgetting that she’s the agent and being more reminded of his mum. He turns over Lottie’s suggestion to come out to Donny and see the family.

“But what?” he asks, leaning forward. He flicks through Facebook while he waits for her response, cursing all the happy couples he sees. Hot cocoa and snowball fights out in Wolverhampton. He comments on a photo of his best mate, Liam, and his new boyfriend Zayn. They look happy as fuck. He should probably be happy for them, too. 

“We have a delightful home-swap running where you’d be able to switch places with someone in a different country. I don’t know if you’re up for a fresh start, but it could be something to think about. A new adventure, if you will,” the agent says, springing the idea on him. Louis studies Liam and Zayn in the photo, their faces pressed together, happiness etched in the crow's feet around their eyes. He weighs the pros and cons, having no clue how the whole thing could even work.

“Please, do tell me more,” he says.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

 

“What will your mum think? Skipping Christmas like that! She’ll murder you and then blame someone else for it,” Liam exclaims, scandalized. They’re surveying Louis’ flat after four hours of deep-cleaning. Louis didn’t waste words over the phone when he asked Liam to come over. He kept it light, asking him to come for a few rounds of FIFA to get them into the holiday spirit. The cleaning part wasn’t brought up until he got there, slush melting off his boots as he pulled them off in the foyer. 

Louis had given him the run-down of the wild life events that happened in the last 24 hours. The break-up. The sob fest. The trip booked on a whim to another country. Sharing his own flat with a new, perfect stranger who was looking for a charming English escape for the holiday. Louis hadn’t bothered even turning his Playstation on when Liam arrived. He had gently pressed a Swiffer into one of Liam’s hands, bribing him with a few sugar biscuits made from his mum’s top-secret recipe. 

“Get off it, Liam. Spare me the guilt trip please. Not all of us are so lucky to be disgustingly in lust for Christmas. A trip away will do me good,” Louis says, rubbing a smudge of flour off his kitchen counter with the sleeve of his jumper. Liam tutted at him, a deep blush forming on his cheeks.

“Never really appreciated the holiday season so much,” Liam shrugs, a smile already forming on his lips. Louis knows he’s about to be entrenched in sappiness within the next few seconds. “Zayn surprised me with tickets to see the London Orchestra a day after Christmas...but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about this. I  _ am _ sorry about Edwin, Lou. If I ever see him again, I’ll pummel him in that smug face of his,” Liam says, ducking his head. Louis shoves Liam and hops up on one of the bar stools surrounding his kitchen island. He swipes a biscuit and nibbles on it. His mum’s recipe has been a well-kept family secret for years. Louis knows all the special ingredients she uses by heart. Liam’s always had a soft-spot for a perfectly crafted biscuit and has been begging Louis’ mum for years to give up the recipe. She never will.

“S’alright Payno. At least one of us is getting laid. But I’m heading to sunny California. No snow, no obvious holiday decor—I did make sure of that when I talked to the agent—this will put me 8,750 kilometers away from Edwin and his cheating arse. That’s what matters right now,” Louis says. Liam settles in the stool next to him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 

“So tell me again who you’re switching with. All I know so far is that I’m to take you to the airport tomorrow morning and not let any of this slip to your family,” Liam says.

“I really don’t have a lot of details. The agent told me it’s some girl named Gemma. Think she’s older than us by a few years, maybe. I was warned she owned a cat and had to agree that I’d be fine taking care of it. Can show you her place on Google Maps. It’s wicked,” Louis says, scrambling to locate his laptop. He finds it stuffed deep down in one of his couch cushions. He pulls up the email he received from his travel agent that confirmed his trip. This Gemma girl, from what he can tell, is living an absolute dream. Well, from the outside anyway.

“Here it is. Check it out, I think it’s some kind of gated community,” Louis says, trying his best to navigate the map. He can’t see much about the neighborhood beyond a gate tucked into thick greenery, a hint of gray brick and the railings of what seems to be a balcony peeking into view. 

“Seems pretty private if Google can’t even get a decent shot. Let me look her up, see what I can find. I’m fascinated by all this,” Liam says, cracking his knuckles. Louis stops him before he has a chance to steal his laptop away.

“Absolutely not. Shouldn’t we give the girl some privacy? Clearly she’s doing alright for herself. I wouldn’t want her digging into  _ my _ life. She’ll probably be disappointed by my flat. No doorman, nothing wild or lavish about it,” Louis says, taking stock again of how empty it feels. Liam swivels his head around and looks knowingly at Louis.

“Nothing a bit of holiday decorations won’t fix. Does this Gemma have an aversion to Christmas in the way you do?” he asks, already rising to his feet and going straight for the coat closet. Liam pulls the Christmas tree out and Louis curses himself for not hiding it better.

“It wasn’t specifically said but don’t you think someone who’s leaving their home base right at the holidays is, perhaps, trying to escape all the cheer?” Louis asks, getting to his feet, too.

“Not at all. Maybe she just wants the full English Christmas experience. Cozy flat, access to all the tourist spots and holiday shops, caroling out in the street, you know. You used to love it all. Like, last week, you were all over it,” Liam says, digging out the box of ornaments Louis discarded. His heart clenches when he looks at them.

“Used to, until my heart got demolished. Now, I’m the Grinch,” Louis says, pulling the box to his chest. He glances down at all the packaged ornaments mixed in with older ones he has amassed over the years. A handmade bobble from Phoebe and Daisy with their names written in messy scrawl glints at him underneath the new Edwin-tainted ornaments.

“Let’s just set up a few things, make your flat a little more inviting. Not so  _ sterile _ ,” Liam says, grinning at Louis and getting to work assembling the tree. In the span of a few more hours, in between a couple more biscuits and a flurry of texts from Zayn that make Liam go all googly-eyed, they throw a little holiday cheer into Louis’ flat. It looks homey, a little more happy and a lot less ‘a single, sad man lives here.’ 

“Not bad, Payno,” Louis says, feeling a little thrill at the garland Liam decided to wrap around a few of his standing lamps. It’s bordering on tacky but doesn’t quite make it there. Louis found an old strand of twinkle lights shoved in the back of his bedroom closet from a time when Edwin needed to make an impromptu Halloween costume. They’ve strung them up along the walls of his foyer, casting the entrance in a lovely glow.

“All that’s left is to decorate the tree. Think we have enough Santas out. My favorite is the chubby one you’ve got on top of your oven,” Liam says, pointing to a Hawaiian Santa that his mum brought him back after she took a holiday with her girlfriends. He sports a pair of bright board shorts and a lei around his neck.

“The tree, yes. I also have to set out the snow globes somewhere. Maybe along the windowsill?” Louis asks, staring at the vacant space. His mum is an avid collector. Around the holidays, his boyhood home in Doncaster turns into Christmas central with snow globes everywhere you look. She purchases any kind that strikes her fancy, usually oohing and ahhing over the tiny winter scenes locked behind glass. Louis has inherited his fair share, always partial to the ones that show off chubby, fat birds. He has always liked the way they look. Perfection captured in a tiny bubble, forever winter, forever untouched and unblemished by the stains of the real world.

“Good man. Knew you’d get into the spirit. You’re sure you don’t want to stick around? I can feel your holiday cheer rising by the minute,” Liam says, digging with Louis through his small box of snow globes. He cradles them carefully in his hands, peering into the glass. “You can finally meet Zayn if you stay. He’s almost as obsessed with Christmas as I am. We were going to throw one of those awful Ugly Sweater parties the Americans love so much,” he continues. Louis cradles three snow globes against his belly and waddles them over to the windowsill. He lines them up just so, pleased with how they look when the gray weather from outside catches them.

“Not staying. I still hate this holiday, and I’m still angsty, Liam. A bit of decorating won’t change that. And, you know I’d love to meet your new man. Let’s do it after the holidays. I’ll be back by New Year’s Day,” Louis says, grabbing the globes out of Liam’s hands and placing them where he wants. Louis then turns to stare at the barren tree that Liam assembled. Liam is digging through his box of ornaments, beginning to open some of the new ones Louis bought the other day.

“Leave the new ones out. I’m going to donate them or return them or something. They remind me too much of Edwin. Let’s just put up the happier ones instead,” Louis says, tossing all the new ornaments into a pile out of sight. He and Liam begin hanging each ornament, every single one with a different story attached to it. The swirling star was from when Lottie went through a pottery phase. She’d made them all handmade ornaments for Christmas that year.

“I quite like the tree, Lou. A few more lights on and I think we’ll be done,” Liam says as he hangs a snow-covered bird ornament on one of the pine branches. Louis had picked up that ornament while visiting his Nan in her hometown. She was so delighted by all the feathers, he knew he had to buy it. They untangle a knot of Christmas lights then, stringing them carefully around the tree. When they plug them in, his living room lights up and looks nearly magical.

“Beautiful,” Louis whispers, gazing around at all their handiwork. It’s close to a winter wonderland in his flat, now. He hopes Gemma will appreciate all the effort. Liam hangs out a bit longer after that. Louis does get around to setting up FIFA on the Playstation. They play a few rounds until Liam announces that he has to leave and go meet Zayn for an early dinner in the city.

“So you’ll be here tomorrow then, yeah? Think we need to leave by half past 4 since my flight’s around 6 in the morning,” Louis says, packaging up a few spare sugar biscuits to give to Liam. Liam snatches them out of his hands quickly.

“Will arrive bright and early. If you’re nice, I’ll even bring you coffee,” Liam says, grabbing his jacket and winding his blue scarf around his neck.

“I’m always nice, Liam. You’re my favorite person in the world right now for helping me. Coffee sounds delightful,” Louis responds. Liam gives him a little wave before he steps out of Louis’ flat and into the hallway. Louis locks the door after he leaves, slumping against it and beginning to wonder what all he’s going to need to pack for a place like Los Angeles. His closet is filled to the brim with boring, cold-weather clothes. He tucked away all his summer things months ago, burying them under the bed in the guest bedroom. 

The agent’s confirmation email gave him a rundown on the weather in LA. Warm and sunny with not a snowflake in sight. Louis walks to his guest room and pulls out an old suitcase. His swim trunks are probably at the bottom of the pile, lost underneath tank tops and pairs of cargo shorts. He digs through piles of sandals, only pausing once to throw a stinky pair of Edwin’s out into the hallway. Away from him.

“Okay, LA. You better wow me,” he mutters as he starts to pack.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

  
  


“Passport?” Liam asks.

“Check,” Louis responds, sucking down his coffee. His eyes are bleary as he lugs his suitcase out into the foyer. It’s ungodly early but Liam was right on time, with coffee to boot as he promised.

“You have your plane ticket. Everything’s packed, yeah? This is actually really exciting. I keep forgetting not to post on Facebook since you don’t want your mum knowing,” Liam says, taking a sip from his own coffee cup. Louis does a quick sweep of his flat. The lights are turned off, his fridge has been cleaned out decently and he already took the rubbish out.

“Forgot one thing. Going to leave a note for Gemma, just instructions on the WiFi and whatever,” Louis says, remembering one last item on his list. He grabs a pad of paper and a pen, jotting down a quick holiday message to Gemma complete with any and all details she needs for the flat. With that, he and Liam jog out to the car. It’s a freezing morning, the cold cutting into Louis like a knife. A few tiny snowflakes hit the windshield as Liam drives them through the hellish maze of London. Liam turns on a radio station featuring Christmas music, but Louis punches it off. This is what he’s trying to leave behind. Jolly tunes aren’t welcome anymore.

“All these people out so early. Go to bed, you fools,” Liam mutters as he expertly makes a quick turn into Heathrow’s departures set-down lane. Louis jumps out of the vehicle when Liam stops, noticing the mad flurry of activity around him. Families kissing and hugging goodbye, children running around and screeching about how soon it’ll be until they get to open presents. He gives a quick hug to Liam, intending to only do a quick pat, but Liam has other plans and presses himself to Louis so tightly he almost can’t breathe.

“Easy, Li,” he gasps. Liam snuffles against his neck and then steps back, keeping his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

“Call me for anything. Please keep me updated on the trip. I need to know that you’re alright out there alone. It’s Christmas, Lou. Don’t want you to be depressed,” Liam says. His dark brown eyes are soft as the looks at Louis, almost as if he can see right into the sheer amount of pain Louis has been dealing with since Edwin left.

“Not depressed, just enraged. This holiday will do me good. Will text you when I land, okay? I’ll Snapchat you the moment I arrive to the house so I can show off all the fancy rooms,” Louis says, gently removing Liam’s hands from his shoulders. He grabs his suitcase and backpack, not giving one more look back to Liam as he wades into the stream of travelers heading into the airport. Christmas music is pumping through the speakers and Louis drowns it out with his iPhone, popping his earbuds in and cranking up the AC/DC. He arrives at his gate in plenty of time, only getting a bit held up at security behind a very noisy family. 

“Have a lovely flight and Happy Christmas, sir,” the woman at his terminal says to him as she takes his plane ticket. Louis just weakly smiles at her and doesn’t return the greeting. Thanks to Edwin being a proper snob, they had originally booked Majorca first class. Louis had rebelled against it, not seeing the need to spend so much money. He wanted to fly coach and spend the extra on cool places to explore once they landed. Edwin would hear none of that, though, insisting that they have the very best accommodations in the air.

With the refund money he got, he decided to treat himself a little and upgrade himself to the deluxe treatment for his trip to Los Angeles. Louis gets to board before most of the other people, grinning to himself when he sees his seating area for the 11-hour trip. It’s a nice, private sitting area with a seat that reclines into a bed. Drinks are complimentary, unless you want to upgrade to the good liquor, and so is the food. Louis drops his backpack under the seat and settles in, trailing his fingers along his privacy curtain and revelling in the sheer decadence of this type of flight. His seat is firm, a bit lumpy if he’s being honest, but it definitely beats being squashed against some mouth-breather for hours. He fully intends to recline all the way back once they get up in the clouds. 

“Good morning, sir. Could I offer you a drink? I’ve got your Customs form here, too, for when you land,” a flight attendant says to him, placing a form on his tray table. He rubs his hands together, has been waiting for this moment. He never orders drinks on flights, always the type to save a few pounds rather than spending frivolously. But this is his vacation, his one little chance to do something solely for himself.

“I’ll take your strongest Bloody Mary, please. Top-shelf, whatever goes in that. Could I also get a spot of breakfast? I know it’s early but I’m already starving,” Louis says, pulling his hoodie around him closer and buckling up his seat belt. 

“We’ve got an eggs benedict this morning, is that alright?” she asks him.

“Sounds lovely, thank you,” he responds. The attendant nods at him and moves on to the next passenger. Louis stares out the window, rain already streaking the early, gray morning of England. In mere minutes, he gets to leave all this behind him. He turns his phone to airplane mode and settles in. When his drink arrives, he takes one long sip before they takeoff. As they rise into the air, Louis can’t help but feel a pulse of excitement. He thinks of his family who all think he’ll be showing up for the holidays. The bad feeling creeps in slowly, the guilt that he’s doing something horribly wrong. The Bloody Mary is helping him tamp down those thoughts, though. He takes a few more sips, and then a few more.

“Merry Christmas to me,” he says, sucking on his straw. The Eggs Benedict is served hot and Louis digs in, groaning as he shovels forkfuls into his mouth. Another passenger across the way stares at him in slight disgust, but Louis doesn’t care. He’s going all in. Stuffed, warm and almost happy, Louis lets the flight attendant clear his plate and drink away before he sweeps the privacy curtain across. 

“Take that, nosy neighbor,” he mutters to himself. His seat reclines easily, and he settles down on top of the flight-mandated pillow given to each passenger of the plane. In minutes, he’s drifted off to sleep, the whir of the engine lulling him into an easy sleep. When he awakens again, bleary and unsure how long they’ve been in the air, there’s a movie playing on the telly attached to his seat. A holiday flick, one of the popular ones that gets all the laughs. He can hear other passengers chuckling and pointing out their favorite parts. Louis would rather smother the television set with his pillow than watch Chevy Chase suck down eggnog like it’s his job. 

The more he watches though, the more relatable it is. Chevy is just a simple man whose Christmas dreams continue to go up in smoke. Sure, his wife hasn’t divorced him… God knows why she stays with him. But everything that could go wrong, does. Louis starts paying attention, motioning to the attendant to bring him another drink and then another. By the end of the film, Louis is drunkenly crying into his Bloody Mary, marvelling at the miracle of Christmas for the Griswold family. Edwin had always loved this one, could quote every line from it at the drop of a hat.

“A few tissues, sir,” the attendant says as she passes him by. Nosy neighbor is looking at him, baffled, but Louis just thanks her and takes the tissues. He blows his nose loudly and gulps back the rest of his drink. The pilot comes on then, announcing that they’ll be landing shortly. Louis shakes his head, willing the holidays to just stay at bay a bit longer. If he can just get out into the sunshine so he can breathe some fresh air that isn’t laden with cinnamon and sugar, he’ll feel better. Cleaner. He glances out his window and brightens. The sky is a brilliant blue now, white puffy clouds hiding a rippling ocean below. He’s never been to the Pacific before.

“We’re touching down soon, folks. I’d like to personally welcome you to the sunny part of California, Los Angeles. It’s a balmy 65 degrees fahrenheit — 18 celsius to all you non-locals. The local time is 4:38 PM and we truly hope you enjoyed your flight with us,” the pilot says, voice crackling on the overhead. Louis loves the idea of 18 degrees celsius. It very much beats the 4 degrees that he left. He readies himself for landing, checking his backpack and all his belongings. The adventure is about to begin. Their plane lands smoothly, only jostling Louis a tiny bit in his seat. First class means he gets off quicker than everyone else behind him, and he shoulders his backpack and presses a tip into his favorite flight attendant’s hand as he leaves.

“Thanks for those tissues, love. A bit embarrassing,” he whispers.

“Holidays are emotional. I hope you have a lovely one,” she whispers back, giving his hand a squeeze. Louis steels himself for the madness of Customs. He grips his form in one hand, trying to read all the signs so he knows exactly where he needs to go. He gets through all the hubbub, the airport a noisy, screaming thing. Noises and smells and other people are assaulting him from all sides. Christmas brings out such madness in people. 

When he finally fights his way through customs and grabs his little suitcase off the baggage claim, a bit of calm washes over him. His only responsibilities now for the next week and a half are to simply enjoy himself and forget that real life exists. He drags his suitcase to the airport exit, stepping outside into the pleasant sunlight. He squints, forgetting that his sunnies are still stuffed somewhere in his backpack. Louis pulls out his phone and fiddles with the SIM card, replacing it before he does anything else. God forbid he can’t Snapchat for his holiday in America. He quickly opens his Uber app, knowing he could hail a taxi but this will be much more pleasant. He types in Gemma’s address as his destination, having to copy and paste it from his travel agent’s email. He’s got only four minutes to wait so he stands still and does a little people watching to pass the time. 

His phone rings just as a car that looks like his Uber pulls up. His driver’s got the windows down, a little Green Day blaring out into the sunshine. Edwin’s calling. He picks it up after debating with himself for a few seconds, taking in a deep breath. 

“Fuck off, you bloody wanker,” he shouts loudly. The Uber driver holds his hands up in concern. Louis’ outburst has earned him quite a few wary stares from other passersby. He ends the call and immediately apologizes to the driver.

“No, no mate, not you. You’re great. You’re my ride,” he says, swinging the car door open and shoving all his bags into the backseat. “Is this going to affect my rating?” His driver just chuckles and adjusts his sunglasses, checking the lane next to them before pulling away from the airport.

“No worries, man. As long as you don’t reek or smoke in my car, you’re cool. I feel bad for whoever was on the other end of that line, though,” his driver says. Louis shrugs and actively blocks Edwin’s number from his phone. He wants no more to do with hearing from him for the remainder of his trip. 

“Just my shitty ex-boyfriend. How long do you reckon it’s going to take us to get to the address? I’m doing a house-swap. Never been to LA in my life,” Louis says, craning his neck as the California breeze tickles his cheeks. His driver lets out a low whistle.

“So you’ve never been in LA traffic with the added snafu of Christmas before, either? We could be a while,” his driver says. Louis sinks down into his seat and leans his head back, not too worried about the amount of travel time ahead of him. He shoots off a quick text to Liam, complete with a selfie of himself in the Uber. Everything is more colorful here, greener. Louis is pleased to note that despite the crawl of traffic and the long, expensive ride he has ahead, there are hardly any indicators that it’s Christmas at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

 

“You’re sure this is it?” Louis asks, standing next to the car with his suitcase on the pavement. His Uber driver nods, waving his GPS in Louis’ face.

“Killer place you’re staying at. Do you know how to get into the gate? I can’t take you any farther, bro, sorry,” the driver says. Louis scratches his head, unsure on details. He definitely doesn’t want to keep paying for the Uber though. The longer the guy idles here, the more he has to potentially pay.

“I’m fine. I’ll figure it out. Thanks for the lift,” Louis says, waving to the Uber driver as he pulls away. Louis is left to his own devices, standing outside what to his eyes looks to be a fucking mansion. Through the gate, his eyes feast on a large home adorned in gray brick with ivy crawling up some of the outer walls. If he ducks to the left, he thinks he can maybe spot a pool. 

“Bloody amazing. Would be… if I could get in,” Louis whispers, glancing back to the quiet street where the Uber dropped him. It’s surrounded by nothing but tall hedge bushes. All these rich people want privacy, most likely. Louis eyes up the gate again, trying to gauge exactly how far he’d have to throw his suitcase to get it over the top. After spending a few more minutes debating with himself, he thinks  _ sod it _ and lines himself up to throw. A sudden hint of movement catches his eye before he does so. A curtain covering one of the windows moves and Louis seizes up. No one else was supposed to be here, unless Gemma has managed to hire housekeeping, too.

“Hello?” Louis yells, waving his arms like a lunatic. The curtain never opens again, but the cause of the movement pops its head up from the bottom of the window. The cat ridiculously named Tibbles. Of course.

“Oh, perfect. I’m stranded out the gate, and Tibbles in there is having the time of his life,” Louis mutters, picking up his suitcase and staggering back a few steps. He takes a few deep breaths, heaving in and out, before launching his suitcase into the air. He cheers when it lands, hoping he didn’t break anything major in the throw. Now all that’s left is him getting over the gate too. He looks down at his sneakers and squares his body up for the climb. The gate is hot under his touch, the curling metal providing a few footholds for him as he slowly climbs up. He almost makes it over the top when he hears the distinctive wail of sirens. Too close. Much too close. He looks back down at the pavement when a police car rolls up.

“Sir, please come down from the gate,” the policeman drawls as he gets out of his vehicle. Louis could die of embarrassment. Who the fuck called the police on him? Some posh neighbor of Gemma’s?

“It’s  _ truly _ not what it looks like. My name is Louis Tomlinson,” he yells as he gingerly climbs back down. “Gemma knows I’m here, I just don’t know how to get into the gate.”

“We had a concerned caller let us know there was a, and I quote, unsavory prowling gentleman scaling the gates of Miss Styles’ private home. What’s the deal, son?” the policeman says as Louis drops to the ground with a huff. Louis wishes he was wearing something other than all black, that he wasn’t sweating, that he wasn’t about to sound like the fanciest burglar this cop’s probably ever spoken to.

“So sorry, sir. It’s a home swap program,” Louis begins earnestly. The cop cocks his eyebrow at that.

“Home swap? Do you have evidence of this home swap? Why didn’t you have the access code to the gate if Miss Styles knows you’re to be staying here?” the cop asks. Louis takes out his phone, willing the shitty data to work faster so he can pull up the email from his agent.

“Me and Gemma, the girl who lives here, both signed up for this program where you switch houses. I’ll be here for a week and a half, have only just arrived. Oh, here’s the email. I never got a gate code,” Louis says, shoving his phone into the cop’s face. The cop takes it from him, reading through the details.

“Strange time to leave your family and friends for a trip, what with it being Christmas and all,” the cop says. Louis lets out an exasperated sigh, longing to be on the other side of the gate with his luggage. 

“Not exactly a happy holiday season for me right now, mate. Listen, could you help me get in? I’ve got instructions on where to find the spare key to her place. I just need in the gate,” Louis says, his impatience growing. The cop looks from Louis, to his luggage, and back to his phone a few times. Louis continues sweating. This was not how he wanted to start his vacation, possibly getting handcuffed and thrown into the back of a squad car.

“Do you have Miss Styles’ phone number handy?” the policeman asks. Louis slumps a little, can’t believe he could’ve been so daft as to not think to call her directly. He’s never spoken to her in his life, but he’s got her number for exact reasons such as this.

“It’s...it’s stupid really, I think the number might be in that email. I totally forgot,” Louis murmurs. The cop smirks at him before dialing Gemma’s number on Louis’ phone. How’s he to know Louis has enough minutes for this call? International long-distance is expensive. He’s got no clue that Louis has already bought himself enough minutes and data and talk-time to last him into the new year and then some. Just takes what he wants, when he wants it, this cop.

“I have a British gentleman outside your residence, Miss Styles. Claims to be a Louis Tomlinson, talking about how he home swapped with you. Is that true?” the cop asks into Louis’ phone. Louis strains to hear Gemma on the other end, can’t make out much about her by voice alone. The cop grills Gemma for a few more agonizing minutes. Some swanky BMW rolls past and slows as it crawls by Gemma’s place. Louis gives a little wave and ducks his head.

“Look all you want, rubberneckers,” he whispers. “As if there have never been cops in this neighborhood before.” The cop finishes up his call, making affirmative grunts every so often. When he hangs up, he shoots a pained grin at Louis.

“Got it all figured out. Sorry to spook you with the official police business, but I’m here to protect and serve. Gemma corroborated your story and she stressed that she’s very sorry she forgot this important detail. I’m about to give you the gate code so get ready to memorize,” the cop says, leaning back against his squad car and tossing Louis his phone back. Louis opens up his notation app, ready to punch in whatever numbers he needs.

“4-2-7-7-9,” the cop says, starting to get back into his vehicle. “Have a good Christmas kid, and try not to get yourself in too much trouble while you’re here.” Louis wanders over to the gate and punches the numbers in, relief flooding him as it springs open. The cop drives away, leaving Louis to finally hobble into the driveway and pick up his busted suitcase. His backpack is heavy on his back, and he wants nothing more than to get outside and sink himself into some kind of bath. Gemma’s spare key was supposed to be under one of her exotic potted plants near the front door. He finds the key, exclaiming as he does so, tripping over himself to jam it into the lock so he can let himself in.

“Holy shit,” he says, whistling to himself as he enters Gemma’s place. The door shuts softly behind him. He drops his bags and stares around in amazement. Gemma’s foyer is bright and airy, tastefully decorated in soft yellows and grays. A spiral staircase leads up to the second floor where the master bedroom no doubt waits. Louis kicks off his shoes and begins to explore. The foyer leads into an open concept room adorned with dark wood floors, featuring an absolutely enormous kitchen complete with cooking island and dining table, and a living area with a fireplace and massive entertaining space. The plush armchairs and couch look so inviting, but Louis doesn’t want to drop down and sleep just yet. He rubs at his eyes, fighting his jet lag as he moves from room to room. 

A baby grand piano is tucked into the corner of another room, black and white checkered tile cool underneath Louis’ feet. A large bay window gives him a view of Gemma’s backyard, lush with palm trees and hibiscus flowers. The pool waiting for him is huge, with plenty of space available to swim a few laps. He sweeps past the piano room into another nook where millions of books are stuffed into shelves, many with the same title. Louis stops then and looks closer. All of the books, most of them anyway, have been written by one Gemma Styles herself.

“The writing business must be really good,” Louis whispers, tracing the spines of a few books. They look to be primarily children’s books, lush illustrations paired with stories about a family of elephants. Louis glances over to what has to be Gemma’s writing desk, a laptop and neat orderly stacks of manuscripts piled on one side. A framed photo sits on the desk featuring someone who’s probably Gemma with her arm around a stunningly handsome man. Louis picks up the frame and studies it, taking in the man’s tousled dark hair that tumbles to his shoulders. Gemma’s auburn hair is cut into a harsh bob that frames her face. She and the gorgeous bloke next to her are both grinning big with perfect teeth.

“You’re cute, sir. Really cute. Endlessly jealous, Gemma,” Louis remarks, putting the frame back where he found it. Gemma has clearly done well for herself. Killer writing job, cruelly hot husband. Louis decides to explore the upstairs area. He gets a little dizzy climbing the stairs and takes in a few more photos on the walls. Gemma with a few girls, doing peace signs at the camera in front of some mountain. Gemma with her parents, most likely, smiling as they crowd into the frame. Gemma kissing someone who is most definitely not the man from downstairs. 

“Who are you?” Louis asks the photo, quite aware that talking to himself is a hallmark of being crazy. This is what Edwin’s done, made him crazy. Gemma’s wearing a wedding dress and is kissing the daylights out of some blonde chap in a navy tux. Decidedly not the man in the photo downstairs. A hissing sound catches Louis’ attention. Tibbles is sitting in front of the doorway to the master bedroom, staring at him with clear disgust in his cat eyes.

“Ah, Tibbles. We finally meet,” Louis says, crouching down and holding out his hand. Tibbles only hisses at him again and then bounds out of sight, heading somewhere downstairs. Louis shakes his head and stands back up, pushing open the door to the master. Cool colors are splashed on the walls. Louis has never seen a room so open and inviting. He flings himself onto the bed with all his clothes on and sinks into the mattress, feeling gleeful at being in this colossal house. He flips himself over and is met with one more picture on Gemma’s nightstand. It’s another wedding photo, this time with four people in the frame. Gemma, her parents, and the tousle-haired boy wonder from downstairs.

“Brother?” Louis asks, sleep pulling at his limbs and making them heavy. “Gemma has a very,  _ very _ dishy brother maybe,” he murmurs. Before his eyes flutter closed, Louis bolts up. He wants to make good on his bath craving. He reluctantly rolls himself out of bed and pads to the master bath. It’s more impressive than the bedroom. Louis plans to spend as much time in the tub gleaming in front of him. Gemma’s bathroom is practically a spa.

“Gemma, I need to write books. I need to write all the books so I can have a place like this,” he says, his voice echoing inside the massive bathroom. There’s a jetpool tub smack in the middle of the room, surrounded by neutral tiles. Louis strips down, not wasting one more moment. He’ll visit the pool later, will get in a solid nap in a bit, figure out the WiFi after dinner perhaps. Right now, all he needs is a nice, warm soak and a little fantasy time thinking about Gemma’s perfect possible brother.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

 

Louis has been floating on a raft for the last hour, loving the feeling of the sun on his stomach. It’s been a whole day of living in Gemma’s world, and he never wants to leave. Ever. Louis was delighted to find out that Gemma’s pool is heated, no matter the time of day. After getting one of the best night’s sleep of his life on that heavenly mattress, the only plans Louis has for the day are to relax. 

A gentle breeze rustles the palms in Gemma’s backyard and Louis sighs. A feeling of perfect contentment washes over him. Not a Christmas tree in sight, not an Edwin within spitting distance. Everything is right. The sound of his phone ringing interrupts his zen moment. Gemma’s raft has come equipped with a handy spot for your phone. Louis had wasted no time Snapchatting Liam his view, laughing when he got a Snap back of Liam flicking him off as he was all bundled up in a coat and scarf with Zayn’s chin tucked into his shoulder. Louis frowns down at the Caller ID, debating on answering. If he doesn’t pick up, she’ll just keep calling and calling. 

“Mum,” he says warily. He can hear squawking behind her, probably two of his sisters fighting over who gets control of the XBox before bed. His mum launches into conversation, steamrolling Louis before he has a chance to form any kind of thoughts.

“So Christmas dinner will be around 3, but obviously you’ll already be here for Christmas Eve. Uncle Mark and Aunt Marjorie will be arriving and I need you to give up your room so they can stay with us. You don’t mind, do you, love? Oh, and have you gotten the twins’ gifts yet? You know, they’re getting harder and harder to buy for. Louis?” his mum says, not even sounding like she’s run out of breath. Louis cringes and adjusts himself on the raft, staring up at the sky and hoping some kind of excuse magically appears that he can use.

“Lots of information there, mum. If you don’t slow down, you’ll give yourself a coronary,” Louis says, starting off the conversation with a spot of humor. She just tuts at him.

“I need you to help with the tree. Lottie and Fizzy can’t handle the chopping. You’re off work, maybe you and Edwin could come out a little early. Could be fun,” his mum says.

“Edwin. Right…” Louis begins. This conversation needed to happen eventually. Lottie clearly hasn’t said a word about Edwin to mum, so now he has to do it. He talks quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. “Mum, Edwin and I are over,” Louis says. He can hear his mum shut a door then, all the squawking behind her has stopped. He’s sure she’s walked into her bedroom and is now giving him her full attention. Which is very kind of her, really. But she’s not going to like him much by the end of this conversation. Louis taps his foot against the water, spinning his raft in lazy circles.

“What happened, Boo Bear? You seemed to really love him,” his mum says in a quiet voice. Louis’ sense of peace and calm is gone when he hears the sadness in her tone. Edwin had charmed his family, for the most part. He’d been over for birthdays and holidays, and everyone had thought they’d be married by next year—Louis most of all. 

“He cheated, mum. I kicked him out,” Louis says, exhaling a shaky breath. 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. You know, he was a bit of a cad wasn’t he? Remember how he turned up his nose at your Nan’s mince pies? You deserve better than someone who doesn’t see the most lovely parts in you,” his mum says. Louis could cry, almost wishing he was back in his childhood bed wrapped in a familiar blanket. His mum would make him some cocoa and put on some terrible Christmas movie. They’d split a bottle of wine at night after all the kids went to bed, talking about life and finding a way for Louis to put his life back together again.

“I’ll be alright. Just a little heartbroken at the moment, that’s all,” Louis says.

“Well, a little Christmas will cheer you right up. Why don’t you drive out to Donny, love. First thing in the morning. Weather’s not supposed to get too bad until around noon tomorrow. I can put the kettle on for when you get here. We can talk it all through,” his mum says, and Louis hates how nice she’s being, wishing she’d start blaming him for Edwin leaving or something ridiculous. It would make him feel less guilty, less like the worst son in all of existence.

“Funny you mention Donny, mum. Turns out… well, it turns out I won’t actually be coming for Christmas this year after all,” Louis says, his words quiet and out in a rush. A beat of silence, then two. Louis gazes at Gemma’s beautiful home, focuses on a tiny lizard that’s crawling on one of the hibiscus plants. He’s trying to shift away the mental image of his mum’s head exploding right now.

“What do you mean you  _ aren’t _ coming, Lou. It’s Christmas. You’re coming,” his mum says, her words landing like bricks in his stomach.

“I am, in fact, out of the country. Got a little sad about Edwin, decided to take myself on holiday. I just can’t face Christmas this year,” Louis says. His shoulders are starting to burn, all that sunlight too bright for his sensitive British skin. He hasn’t had to use sunblock in ages. 

“You took yourself on a bloody holiday? Louis William Tomlinson, I  _ can not  _ believe you! Just up and leaving your entire family, leaving the bloody country, because you’re  _ sad _ ? You love Christmas. I can’t even speak to you right now. I’m sorry Louis, I just…I’m very disappointed in you,” his mum says, her words coming out in tiny hisses of breath. 

“I had to get away, mum. It was all too much. Tell the girls I’m sorry. I’ll be back by New Year’s, yeah? You’re still having that party like you do every year. Promise I’ll show. I’ll even bring a pudding or something,” Louis says, trying to placate her. He can hear screeching in the background now, and the sound of someone wailing at the top of their lungs. That would have to be Phoebe. She’s always been so dramatic. 

“Share the controller with your sister, Phoebe. Don’t fight me on this, honestly. And  _ you _ , Louis,” his mum says, her attention now back to him. He ducks his head like she can see him, blushing by himself in the middle of Gemma’s fancy pool. “Tell me where you are. I can’t believe that I, a very wonderful mother with loving children who’d never betray her trust, don’t know where my only son is at Christmas. How could you?” Louis waits a moment before responding, taking in a few lungfuls of air.

“California,” he squeaks out. If he gives too much away, his mum will be on the next plane to yank him back to the UK. That’s the last thing he wants. His mum makes a sound then, between a scream and an exasperated huff. Louis tenses, waiting for whatever comes next. When she speaks, her voice is deceptively calm. Louis knows this voice, knows it’s the one she reserves for when she’s most angry. His mum can be a yeller, sure. She can throw a full-on strop like no one’s business, but the calm voice is the scariest.

“If you call us to wish a happy Christmas, we won’t be picking up. The New Year’s party is still happening, but you are officially uninvited. Goodbye, Louis,” his mum says, the connection breaking with a click. Louis lays on the raft, stunned. He knew his mum would be mad, but this is taking things to a whole new level. Not allowed to call? Not invited over for the Tomlinson New Year’s party? It serves him bloody right, probably. He’ll give her a few days to cool off. Surely she’d answer his call on Christmas. Louis goes to throw his phone but remembers himself just in time. The last thing he needs is a useless, broken phone from an accident with too much pool water. Louis paddles himself over to the edge of the pool and hops out onto the patio. 

He wants to enjoy his surroundings, wants to lose himself in this amazing vacation he’s landed in, but the anger in his mum’s voice is just gnawing away at his insides. Louis grabs a towel from an errant beach chair and rubs it through his hair. What he needs now is a distraction. Something to do, somewhere to go see. If he stays locked up in Gemma’s house for the rest of the afternoon, he’ll hate himself even more. He walks into the house and makes a beeline for Gemma’s writing room. Hopping on the computer, he opens up a map of his surroundings. There are tons of tourist hot spots surrounding the immediate area of Gemma’s neighborhood. He could head over to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, spend the afternoon staring down at the sidewalk and reading famous people's names. There’s always West Hollywood, too. Louis could lose himself in the clubbing scene in the evening, hasn’t been out for a proper wild night in months. 

He clicks on a link for The Grove, the ubiquitous rich person hotspot with shops and entertainment galore. Maybe that’ll be enough, just for today. Go blow a bunch of money on clothing he won’t be able to fit in his suitcase, drown his sorrows in some kind of large ice cream cone, do a bit of people watching and make up stories in his head for all the people milling about. He can wind his night down back here at Gemma’s, crack open that red wine he’s been eyeing. She’d left him a lovely note telling him to help himself to whatever he wished. He thinks he’ll take her up on it, being as how she has more money than God.

Louis slaps the laptop shut. Decided. He hustles upstairs, passing Tibbles on the stairs, intending to change into something that will let him blend in with the rest of the tourists. He settles on dark wash jeans and a simple black shirt, the collar skimming down beneath his collarbones. He likes the way his tattoo peeks out, a little glimpse of the ink he got before Edwin ever came into his life. Something for just him. 

Gemma’s left him keys to her car, some mysterious vehicle he’s yet to take a look at in her garage. Louis makes sure to leave a bit of food for Tibbles before he leaves. Tibbles watches him from his perch on the couch in the living room, staring at him and not moving.

“You know, Tibbles, we might have to be friends by the end of my stay here. The least you can do is be grateful for the food I’m giving you, mate,” Louis says to him. Tibbles just blinks and flicks his whiskers, then starts licking his own arse. Louis rolls his eyes and grabs the car key from the hook next to Gemma’s garage entrance. When he steps into the garage and gets a load of the car, he shrieks in delight. His mood lifts slightly from the paint job alone. It’s a gorgeous red convertible with black leather interior, the fabric feeling butter soft underneath his palms. He hops in the driver's seat, disoriented by where the steering wheel is. He’s used to driving on the opposite side. Louis programs The Grove into the GPS and buckles himself in. As he clicks Gemma’s garage door button and slowly backs out of her driveway, he has to remind himself that driving on a different side of the road will be just fine. 

“Nothing weird about this,” he mutters to himself, already enjoying the breeze in his hair. He backs out fine and aligns himself on the correct side of the road, pressing the gas slowly and driving like he’s only 18 again. When he sees another car approaching on the opposite side, his entire body tenses. His instinct is to get out of the way, but he steadies the car and tries to just breathe, paying attention more to the GPS than all the other cars on the road. A few cars line up behind him, one honking while he does his overly cautious driving. Louis holds up a hand in apology once they reach a red light. His next move is to turn left. He watches with dismay as cars zip around, all of them moving much faster than him. When he gets the arrow, he turns and has to overcorrect quickly before landing in the wrong lane.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m British, don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he yells out, holding a hand up again as someone screams at him from inside their vehicle and lays on the horn. Most people pass him as the continues his drive, finding a little more mercy once he hits a highway. When he spots The Grove’s giant sign coming closer as the afternoon daylight passes, Louis finally relaxes a little. His hands are aching from the tight grip he had on the wheel. When he pulls into the lot and parks, he leans his head against the steering wheel and gasps for air. He cocks one eye open and watches all the families filing through the lot and heading into the shopping area. The Grove looks minimally decorated, a few Christmas trees here and there. Louis squints and can make out unlit Christmas lights on the edges of buildings. With his luck, some kind of holiday light show will start up before he heads home.

“Why did I think this was a good idea? Consumerism is at the very fucking heart of Christmas, you wanker,” he mutters to himself as he gets out of the convertible. He sighs as he looks at the endless display of shops before him. He drove all this way, had such a stressful ride, that he really can’t just turn back now. Louis steels himself for the assault of holiday happiness, and steps inside the shopping complex. 


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

 

Louis doesn’t know where to begin. He passes high-end shop after shop, aimlessly looking at a few clothing stores but not able to decide on anything. At least five very botoxed women give him a few lingering, hungry gazes as he ambles through the complex. They’ve got husbands and broods of kids in front of them but there’s a haunted, almost wistful look in their eyes. He’s used to attention, kind of—from women and men alike. Edwin used to hate it when some bloke would offer to buy Louis a drink in a club, but not get him one too. Louis once had a girl approach him at the grocer while he was debating between different types of biscuits. He had to let her down easy. She seemed sweet so he told her he didn’t live in the area, was only visiting. Louis spots a bleach blonde girl approaching him alone, high heels clacking over the sidewalk. Alarm bells go off in his head. She’s got that look in her eye like Louis may be the prize she’s been after her entire, privileged life.

Before she has a chance to say a word or ask him to kiss her under any mistletoe, Louis ducks into the first store he can find. He blindly reaches for a door and hurries in, pleased that the girl doesn’t follow. She just frowns, flicks her hair and then saunters away. Louis turns around to look at the store he’s wandered into, the smell of pine trees and cinnamon assaulting his nose immediately. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he whispers, taking in his surroundings. Louis couldn’t have picked a worse store to pop into. The whole place looks like Christmas had a few too many drinks and then vomited all over the building. Everywhere he looks, glitter. Everywhere he looks, elves and Santa hats and endless Christmas trees. His mum would be over the moon to find a place like this. Louis still feels the slap of regret lingering on his skin so he takes a few tentative steps in, looking around. If this is the universe’s way of telling him that he can’t escape the holidays no matter how much he tries, then so be it.

Louis browses a few aisles, smirking at the elaborate Santa’s village set up in the middle of the shop. He whistles along, regrettably, to  _ Winter Wonderland  _ as he browses. His eyes land upon a massive wall of snow globes. He’s never seen so many in one place. Maybe he’ll get one as a peace offering for his mum, something to smooth the tension over. He could ship it out tomorrow and pay some exorbitant fee to get it to the house before Christmas Eve. As he’s studying all the tiny little scenes, a deep voice sounds from behind him. 

“Can I help you today, sir?” the voice asks. Louis turns around and is about to tell this person he’s fine, thanks, just browsing… but then he actually looks at him.

“Oh my god,” Louis yelps, jumping back and bumping the shelves of very expensive glass orbs. One of the snow globes falls to the ground in slow motion. Louis’ back is glued to the shelf, his eyes popping out of his head. It’s the guy. The dishy, dishy bloke from Gemma’s photo. Some gorgeous human being somehow related to her, in some way, standing in front of him right now. Wearing an elf costume complete with red and white striped stockings and a hat with a bell on it, no less.

“Are you alright?” the guy asks, tucking some of his gorgeously tousled hair behind his ears. Louis huffs out a breath and glances down at the snow globe.

“I can pay for that, yeah? Is there someone else I can speak to? Anyone else, anyone at all?” he asks, hunching down slowly to inspect the broken bits. The guy crouches with him, much too up in Louis’ personal space. A scent wafts around him, something musky and floral that twists something deep in Louis’ gut. His eyes are greener in person and he is kind, so kind, as he laughs a little and pats Louis on the shoulder. The weight of his palm feels like it’s burning into Louis’ skin and he’s never been so grateful to have put on deodorant this morning.

“No worries. I’ll clean it up later. You’re sure you’re alright? It’s like I spooked you or something,” the guy says, helping Louis to stand back up. The guy keeps touching him, keeps pressing his hands on parts of Louis’ body. Louis has never been so aware of his forearm before, never knew what it was like to be softly touched on the side of his hip until this man appeared in his life.

“Sorry I… it’s  _ you _ , I just… I’m,” Louis stutters. The guy looks at him with a tiny, confused smile, waiting for him to form actual coherent words.

“Looking for a Christmas present. For my mum,” Louis finally gets out. He’s blushing like he’s never spoken to an attractive man before. 

“Well you’ve come to the best place for that. My name’s Harry, if you need help selecting anything. I know every bit of inventory we’ve got,” Harry says, adjusting the ridiculous hat on his head.  _ Harry _ , then. Harry, who is somehow related to Gemma. 

“Thanks, mate. Appreciate the effort. Love your hat,” Louis deadpans, shrugging off his embarrassment and turning back on his default setting, which is heavy sarcasm. Harry adjusts his vest and shines one of the holiday buttons that adorns the front.

“I can tell, already, that you mean every word of what you say—so thank you. I’ll leave you to shop. Holler if you need me,” Harry says, inching away from Louis and finally leaving him in peace. He stares at the glittering rows of snow globes again, unsure if his mum would prefer elves frollicking outside a tiny hut or a few polar bears dipping their toes into an icy body of water. Louis can’t bring himself to continue shopping now. Concentrating on the task at hand is proving impossible. He needs to get his mum a gift, but maybe he’ll just do it tomorrow. Perhaps there’s a way to find a work schedule for this place to make sure Harry won’t be here again. Louis looks around the store further, noting that it’s called  _ The Holiday Hut _ . Fitting. Near the registers, a large poster boasts that it’s “The Grove’s Only Year-Round Christmas Destination.” 

“Christ, I couldn’t imagine having to wear an elf costume every day of my life for my job,” Louis mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and making a beeline for the exit. He slips back out into the mob of last-minute Christmas shoppers without any more slipups. He doesn’t knock anything over on his way out and considers it a victory. After the truly horrifying display he put on in the shop, Louis decides he is perfectly allowed to treat himself now to something delicious. He’d spotted an ice cream stall not too far from the Grove’s main entrance. A little dessert will be just enough to tamp down all his guilty feelings, dousing out the fire in his veins from meeting Harry and give him a little energy boost before he has to drive in wild traffic again.

After a slightly painful exchange with the ice cream scooper, in which Louis struggles to figure out American currency, he leaves grinning with a large chocolate chip cone. It begins dripping down the sides as he walks, and he takes one giant lick just as he makes eye contact with Harry in his bloody elf costume again. He truly thought he was safe now. The parking lot is within view, just a few more yards away. He finishes the lick, face aflame. Harry’s leaned up against some back wall of a fancy cutlery shop, one striped knee popped. His little elf booties have been kicked off and placed next to him on the ground. He’s fingering a cigarette in one hand and studying Louis from where he stands.

“Didn’t think elves were allowed to smoke. Goes against that holly jolly image,” Louis calls out. His voice cracks and he hates himself. Harry smirks and takes a drag before speaking.

“It’s not everyday you run into a hot British guy who seems wholly affected by your presence. Needed a little break to collect myself,” Harry drawls. Louis has no idea how he’s still holding onto his ice cream cone. He takes another small lick, secretly thrilled. Is this Harry’s way of flirting? Is Louis in a position where he can be flirted with by a perfect stranger? Can flirt back? Now that Edwin’s gone and fucked out of his life, he can be free— _ is free _ . He hadn’t really stopped to think about it. He’d been so focused on the pain and the loss and the need to get as far away as possible. He hadn’t expected to stumble across some dark-haired sex god while on vacation.

“If you’d laid down compliments like these back in the shop, I probably would’ve bought something. Sorry, love,” Louis says. He feels bold and has no idea why. Harry chuckles and runs his hands through his hair. Louis wants to do it for him, is dying to pull a bit on the strands and see how Harry reacts.

“Clearly, I needed to be more charming. So what’s the last-minute shopping for? You seem quite a long way from home with an accent like that,” Harry says, gesturing to Louis. Louis could lie to him but he thinks it’d be more fun to see how this plays out.

“I’m on holiday. Trying to escape the holidays, actually. Funny that I ended up in a Christmas shop though, innit?” he begins. Harry stamps out his cigarette and slips his bare feet back into his jingling booties. Louis sucks in a breath and takes another bite of his ice cream to buy himself some time. He wonders how his fringe is looking, is curious if he smells as sweaty as he feels. Harry comes closer, each step punctuated by a small tinkle of bell.

“Imagine that,” Harry says, coming to a stop in front of Louis. “Mind if I have a bite? I’m starving and my dinner break isn’t for another hour.” He swipes Louis’ ice cream out of his hands before he has a chance to protest. Louis bites his lip when Harry takes a lick before handing it back. He tries to stop the dirty thoughts that fly through his head when he catches a glimpse of Harry’s tongue. He fails.

“Rude. That was rude,” Louis says. Harry just shrugs.

“Anyway. I’m here on holiday through...a home-swap program,” Louis says. Harry’s face lights up at that. He looks like he’s just found out he’s been upgraded to Head Elf at the store.

“No  _ fucking _ way. My sister’s doing that too. Her husband’s working overseas for the holidays and she was really upset about it. She found this crazy program where you switch homes with someone. She left only a few days ago. I guess someone’s living in her place now,” Harry says, words tumbling out of his pretty, pink mouth in a rush. Louis bites back a smile.

“Wild. Her name’s not Gemma, is it?” Louis asks. His pulse is jumping while he waits for Harry to make the connection. It’s fascinating watching his face shift from confusion to panic to epiphany.

“Oh my god, this can’t be real. You’re the guy?” Harry asks.

“I’m the guy, in the flesh. Gemma’s staying in my flat in London actually,” Louis says. He crunches into his waffle cone, munching happily. He’s suddenly a little more relaxed than he’s been all trip so far. 

“You’re the one who was trying to break into her place yesterday then? I’d been driving by on my way to work and saw some asshole scaling the gate,” Harry says with a laugh.

“It was you that called the cops? Thanks a lot, pal. A lovely welcome  _ that _ was when the Uber dropped me off and I had no way into your sister’s place. Fuck,” Louis says. Harry giggles again, actually giggles, and then scowls down at the watch on his wrist.

“This is blowing my mind, honestly. Like, this just doesn’t happen. What are the odds of us meeting? Listen, you up for some company later? I’ve got to get back to work but I’m off by 9:30,” Harry says, already making to walk away from Louis and his nearly demolished ice cream. Louis considers it for a moment. Harry, this sudden person who is now in his life, coming over to Louis’ vacation home that is actually Harry’s sister’s place and wanting to spend some time. He can picture Harry shirtless, doing a few laps in the pool at night. Can imagine him propped up on a stool in the kitchen, red wine staining his lips while he laughs at something witty Louis said.

“I’ll be home. Will definitely see you then,” Louis says.


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

 

“Tibbles, I’m going to need you to kindly remove that hairball from your throat anywhere else. We’ve got ten minutes until your mummy’s dear brother gets here, and this place needs to look spotless,” Louis shrieks, cradling up the cat and tossing him out on the back patio. Louis surveys the damage he’s inflicted on Gemma’s home since he moved in. He’s got clothes lying everywhere that he hurries to pick up. Upstairs in the master bedroom, Louis silently debates with himself about whether or not he needs to make the bed. On the one hand, he’s an adult man who should be able to make his bed only if he damn well pleases. On the other, Harry might be up here if his wildest fantasies come true. He shakes his head a second, snapping himself out of it. There’s no need, right?

The doorbell rings from downstairs and Louis lets out a frustrated scream. He’s got a few bottles of wine chilling in the fridge, ready to go. Louis changes clothes quickly, pouring himself into the skinniest jeans he can find. He selects a cranberry jumper that he forgot he packed in his suitcase, inspecting himself in the mirror for far too long. He sends a quick photo to Liam with a quick speed explanation of the situation brewing downstairs.

“Just a minute,” he roars, racing down the spiral stairs and nearly toppling over at the bottom step. Tibbles is angrily meowing outside but he can stay there for all Louis cares. All he can think about now is Harry, Harry, Harry. Louis flings the door open with gusto, reminding himself to stay cool. Harry is leaning against the door frame with a bundle of groceries tucked under his arm.

“You look different out of your elf clothes,” Louis says dumbly. Harry’s got himself stuffed into dark denim jeans and a cream silk top that looks like it’d be worth more than Louis’ paychecks for two months time.

“I almost convinced myself you wouldn’t actually be here,” Harry says, shuffling past Louis and walking inside. Louis can only follow in his wake, watching as he expertly moves around Gemma’s kitchen and starts putting some groceries away. He forces himself not to stare too hard when the silk shirt rides up as he reaches for something, revealing a delicious strip of dimpled lower back.

“Told you, I’m not a liar. What’s all this you’ve brought with you?” Louis asks, standing near the kitchen island. Tibbles hisses at him from outside and he sticks his tongue out at him when Harry isn't looking. Harry is pulling out a huge butternut squash from his grocery bag, and then a bit of ricotta cheese.

“Thought I’d welcome you properly to LA, fix you up a meal. I’ve got a bit of Italy running through my blood, so I’m making you a squash and broccoli rabe lasagna. Pasta won’t be homemade this time, but it’s still pretty damn good. I assume you aren’t allergic to anything weird, are you?” Harry asks, rummaging in Gemma’s kitchen and pulling out a large pot. 

“No, mate. I love carbs. Never had broccoli rabe before. Sounds fancy,” Louis says. He is a little stunned. He wasn’t expecting Harry, and he definitely wasn’t expecting dinner. Liam texts him back and he glances down at his phone.

**Lima [22:17] : The best way over someone is to get under someone else, right? I say go for it. Got a photo of this mystery man?**

Louis blushes and holds his phone up like he’s just innocently Googling something. He lines Harry up in view, drawing his eyes down the lines of his body. He’s sturdy, a little curve around his hips sinking down into a tiny little bum and long, long legs. Louis clicks the shutter and then drops his phone from the sound effect that practically echoes in Gemma’s cavernous kitchen. Harry whips around, smirking at Louis once he fumbles to get the phone and straighten back up.

“I don’t really love the paparazzi effect in LA, man. If you want to take a picture of me, it’s totally cool, if I know about it beforehand. I know I’m good-looking. Broke my last boyfriend’s heart with the power of my sheer beauty,” Harry says with a wink, starting in on making the pasta. Louis would much like to shut himself outside to wait out the evening with Tibbles, where he belongs. He can’t believe how mortified he is. He looks down at the phone in his sweaty palms and sends the photo to Liam anyway.

“Boyfriend? Pity you broke up. Was it long ago?” Louis asks, throwing his phone on the kitchen island and hopping up on a stool. He watches Harry, a bit mesmerized. He gets the stove on and boils up some water, tossing in the broccoli rabe with a finesse not often found in men who work at Christmas stores.

“A few months back, now. What are your thoughts on bay leaves? Are you for them or against them?” Harry asks, keeping an eye on the water. Louis notices,  _ definitely _ notices, the abrupt change of subject. He’s not here to judge though. He understands all about wanting to keep parts of your semi-recent past close to your chest.

“I am very for. Good flavor. My mum uses them in cooking at home...they always remind me of her,” Louis says, feeling a rush of warmth spread through his body. She’s more than likely using a bit of it in the Christmas dinner she’s preparing. The one he won’t be at, an empty spot at the table that all his sisters will stare at with tears in their eyes, probably. Harry cocks his head at his comment and continues working on preparing all the ingredients for the pasta. They exist in each other’s space in comfortable silence. Harry puts on a little music from his phone, some Latin stuff that Louis has never heard before. He’s just thankful it’s nothing holiday-esque. He’s all out of cheer for the day after the phone call he had. 

“Would you like some wine, Harry? Gemma left me a stockpile, and I’ve been dying to open a bottle. You don’t think she’d mind, right?” Louis asks, getting up from the stool. Harry’s moved on to dicing up the squash and tossing it in olive oil and spices. 

“Oh man, you better watch yourself Louis. I’m a bit of a lush when I drink—especially that spicy Shiraz Gemma’s got. You might have to forcibly remove me from your side if I have too much, fair warning,” Harry says, shoving the squash into the oven. Louis smiles into the refrigerator so Harry won’t see his face.

“The Shiraz it is then,” he says, pulling out the bottle and setting it on the table. An hour later and the whole bottle nearly gone between them, Louis inhales the finished product that Harry’s made for him. It’s cooked to perfection and his head feels light, his eyes heavy, as he takes in the meal. He and Harry are seated on the massive couch in the living room, a fire crackling in the hearth. They skipped on past the proper dining table, settling on the soft cushions instead. It’s nearing 11 at night, and Louis took some pity on Tibbles outside, letting him in while Harry had scooped lasagna onto two plates.

“This dish is, I mean I don’t even know how to properly talk about how good it is. It’s better than anything I’ve ever tasted before,” Louis rambles, digging a fork in and taking another hungry bite. Harry is gathering a few last drops of wine onto his tongue, his curls spilling onto the back of the couch.

“Better than sex?” Harry asks. Louis feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room. He blames his reaction on the wine and cranes his neck to look back at the fridge. 

“Should we get another bottle cracked?” Louis asks. When he looks back at Harry, he’s smiling at him softly and running a few fingers through his long hair.

“That doesn’t answer the question. But please, another bottle would be amazing,” Harry says, shooing Louis away. Louis rises on unsteady feet and makes for the fridge. He grabs a bottle blindly and uncorks. Harry never takes his eyes off him. He can feel him tracking his every movement. Louis settles back onto the couch after a healthy pour, holding the bottle out for Harry. Harry sets his wine glass down on one of the side tables and swigs straight from the bottle. Louis just takes a big gulp out of his glass, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“Louis?” Harry asks, that low voice settling on him like a blanket. Harry pushes his foot against Louis’ calf, nudging him. Tibbles lies in front of the fire, staring at the pair of them. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Told you, when I get drunk, I get a little too… open.”

“No, it’s fine. This wine is really getting to me. It’s hot in here, yeah? Maybe I’ll crack a window,” Louis says. The room isn’t that hot, not really, but it’d get him away from Harry’s foot. Just that little bit of contact is so comforting to him, and comforting is a bit dangerous at the moment.

“My temp’s fine. You know what, forget I mentioned sex at all. I’m basically a total stranger to you, right? I have to work to get answers to those kinds of questions,” Harry says, settling deeper into the couch cushions. Louis knocks his knuckles against Harry’s foot and takes another long sip of his wine. This one’s lighter, fruitier on his tongue. Tibbles hops up on the couch and perches on one of the armrests near Louis’ head.

“Tibbles has taken a liking to you, I see,” Harry says, taking another few swigs from his bottle. Louis can feel the swish of Tibbles’ tail against the back of his head.

“Hardly. The wanker has done nothing but hide or hiss at me since I’ve been here,” Louis says. Harry laughs at that, chuckling a little longer than absolutely necessary.

“And how long are you staying then, Louis? I’d ask what’s brought you out here for the holidays, but that’s just the nosy part of my brain talking. You don’t have to tell me anything for real,” Harry says. Louis is really bloody grateful for that. Harry’s got a good head on his shoulders. A drunk head, maybe, right now. But he can tell he’s good. If it were any other situation, if he’d gotten to meet Harry before he’d met Edwin, what a life he’d maybe be leading now. Getting fed amazing pasta by a stunning American man who wears silk shirts that rapidly become more and more unbuttoned as he drinks. Louis settles for a tiny smile before answering him.

“Might tell you the long story another time. Too heavy for tonight. I’ll be here until past Christmas. Heading back to London by New Year’s Day is the plan,” Louis says, draining his wine glass. He reaches for the bottle with both hands and scowls when Harry hugs it to his chest.

“Told you, I do love my wine. You’ll have to come over here and get it,” Harry says with a playful smile, chugging back more of the wine. Louis feels the distinct raise of goosebumps on his skin as he gets on his knees and leans forward to grab the bottle from Harry. He stops to wonder what people would think from the outside looking in. All those posh neighbors of Gemma’s might think he and Harry are together, what with the way his breath hitches as he leans over Harry and gazes into his eyes. He gets so close to him, he can make out the faint blushed red ring around Harry’s lips.

“I’ll be taking what’s rightfully mine, love. As the guest, I do get full run of the booze in the house. You’re just the brother. So unexpected,” Louis whispers, firmly pulling on the neck of the bottle. Harry releases it easily and Louis reels back on his heels to give himself one last pour. 

“Unexpected good or unexpected bad?” Harry asks. Louis watches Harry slowly drift to sleep on the couch as he drinks one more glass of wine. Tibbles scampers off to wherever he sleeps, and Louis isn’t sure what to do with Harry. Gemma’s got what looks to be a guest room upstairs, but Harry looks so comfortable here, his chest rising and falling softly. His unbuttoned shirt shifts a little, revealing one dark nipple. Louis wants nothing more than to catch it in his mouth, explore the rest of his body, but he’ll save that for his dreams only. 

He settles for finding a blanket and draping it over Harry’s sleeping form. He stokes the fire out and crouches down next to Harry, who’s begun to wheeze a little.

“Unexpected good,” he whispers before turning out all the lights.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

 

The sunlight pools on the wooden floor of the living room. Long sunrays reach through the windows and stop right at Louis’ toes. He scrunches them, feeling the warmth, not knowing what to do. He’s fed Tibbles, he’s watered some of Gemma’s plants out front, but now he’s left with this gorgeous human in the living room. Louis awoke this morning with a start. His mouth was dry like someone had force-fed him sand in the middle of the night. When he crept downstairs after taking a piss, he was surprised to see Harry still lounging on the couch. 

He stares at him now, watching his chest rise and fall. It’s nice to look so unselfconsciously. His eyes can train over all the little details of one Harry Styles without calling any attention to his gaze. Harry’s hair has gotten wild during sleep. Louis has a feeling that when he wakes up, half of it will be sticking to his face and the rest will stick straight up into the air. Louis pads over to the kitchen and hops up on the stool, scrolling through Facebook on his phone for something to do. He’s already showered and is starving, but doesn’t want to wake Harry just yet. Little snoring breaths provide the soundtrack to Louis’ social media dive of the day. 

He spots a photo of his sister Lottie and her boyfriend taking a drive out to Billingley’s Christmas Tree farm. Just seeing the caption about their destination brings him firmly back to a few childhood memories. His dad, who’s now very much out of the picture, would take Louis, Lottie and Fizzie to the farm when they were little. He’d romp around in the snow with his sisters, and they’d usually end their hunt for the perfect tree by having a snowball fight. He wonders if Lottie’s planning to chop down a tree with her boyfriend this year for mum. He sees that a few friends from uni are doing a holiday pub crawl and have invited him. He hits “Decline” without a second thought. Harry wakes then, his lion head popping up from behind the couch.

“Oh, hello you,” Louis says, placing his phone down and jumping off the stool. Harry runs a hand through his hair immediately. Instead of making his bedhead worse, he manages to look attractively rumpled. Fuck him.

“I told you, wine does me in. I slept like a rock,” Harry says, his hand pulling up his silk shirt to scratch at his belly. Louis inhales and blinks a few times. Happy trail aside, it’s too early for this, too early for this strange man to be in his house. He needs to get him out. Now. Right this instant. 

“Glad you slept well. I should thank you for dinner. Was lovely, really. You don’t need to stay any longer, honest. I’m sure you’ve got work, or Christmas plans, or things to get to,” Louis says, wildly thinking about all the excuses he can give to get Harry out the door. Harry grins at him, gathering up his hair and pulling it into a bun and securing it with some hair tie he’d hidden on his wrist. Louis tries not to let his jaw drop at this. It’s fine. Gemma’s got a good-looking brother who knows his way around Italian dishes. Gemma’s got a brother who surely has no more space in his large heart for Louis and all his sad, romantic baggage and his sad, Christmas aversion.

“If you want me to leave, just say so. I’ve got things to be doing, little plans here and there,” Harry says, waving his arms around as he walks towards the door. 

“It’s not that I’m kicking you out. I’ve got a full day, too,” Louis says, lying through his freshly-brushed teeth. Harry whips around, eyes big and a funny look on his face. Louis has no idea how Harry has transformed so quickly from eye candy to goofball so fast, but he’s done it. He’s a big weirdo hiding behind a pretty face.

“Oh, I’m sure you do Louis. You know, I haven’t caught your last name. I don’t usually spend the night with guys I don’t know,” Harry says, slipping on a pair of suede boots that Louis hadn’t noticed last night. Louis blushes at the thought of Harry spending the night with him. They were separated by a whole story of space, feet of wooden floors and doors and a whole spiral staircase, but it feels intimate hearing him say it anyway. Edwin used to hate sleeping next to him, always told him he was a cover hog of the worst kind. Louis had, back then, found those little quibbles endearing. Maybe now, though, not as much.

“Tomlinson. If you’re looking to stalk me further online, don’t bother. My accounts are locked down. Didn’t want my family seeing my travels. It’s hard enough on them, me being here,” Louis says. He doesn’t mean to let that detail slip, but there it is. He’s offered up something real to Harry and can’t snatch back the words now. 

“You said there was a story there,” Harry says, pausing with a slight frown. He claps his hands once. “I’m gonna go, got a shift at Holiday Hut at noon and I’m meticulous about my uniform being perfect. One doesn’t just dress like an elf, Tomlinson. It’s a way of being,” Harry says, opening Gemma’s front door. The day is perfect, such a stark contrast to the weather that’s surely raging back home. A beat-up Jeep is parked crookedly in Gemma’s driveway. It’s got mud splattered on the sides with a hanging Hula girl dangling from the rearview mirror. A bumper sticker on the back reads “PEAS ON EARTH” and it’s clear that Harry is just an onion of personality types. Add that to the list of sparkling quirks that make up this bloke in a silk shirt.

“Nice ride,” Louis says, sarcasm thickening his tone. Harry winks at him as he walks backwards to the car, never turning away from Louis.

“You’ll love it. Air rushing through your hair, being able to bump over any kind of terrain. When you come with me tonight to Niall’s party, you’ll see,” Harry says, turning away then to get into his car. Louis takes a few steps towards him, trying to shout his dissent over the grunt of the engine.

“Party? No way, Styles,” Louis shouts. It’s like Harry doesn’t even hear him.

“Pick you up around 9. My last shift at the Hut is tomorrow and Niall wanted to have his party a bit before Christmas Eve,” Harry yells over the roar after rummaging in his Jeep for a pack of cigarettes. He shakes one out onto his hand and lights up, blowing a tiny bit of smoke out the window.

“No, I did not come here to be dragged to Christmas parties,” Louis yells back. Tibbles escapes then, darting past Louis’ legs so quickly he hardly knows what’s happened. Gemma left strict instructions that Tibbles could be out in the backyard, but never the front. Too many ways to escape and become roadkill immediately. Louis wants to keep arguing with Harry about this alleged party, but he’s got a cat to catch.

“Fuck me,” he yells and can hear Harry laughing in the Jeep as he watches him run around in his joggers after this arsehole of a cat. 

“Don’t be so forward, Louis. Takes at least three dates for that. I’ll bring you a few sweaters tonight to pick from before we go. Will be great fun. I’ll see you later. Don’t lose Tibbles or Gemma will have your head,” Harry says, gunning the gas and gliding through the gate. 

The silence envelops Louis then. Tibbles has bolted up one of the swaying palms in Gemma’s front yard and has jumped onto one of the gutters, hissing as usual. The word ‘date’ swims around in Louis’ head. What him and Harry had last night was certainly not a date. It was a friendly dinner, a pity dinner really. If Harry knew all the complexities of Louis’ feelings, if he could see into the darkest parts of him, he’d know that a new boyfriend is the last thing he needs right now. No boyfriend. No Christmas party.

“Tibbles, please. The morning was going so well, wasn’t it? We were getting along, you and I. Now come out of that tree so I can get on with my very busy day of sunning myself and asking Liam what exactly an Ugly Sweater party is,” Louis says, craning his neck to stare at Tibbles. Tibbles slinks on tiny legs across the gutter and then leaps to the ground, landing perfectly. 

“In,” he says, grabbing Tibbles and walking back inside the house. With the cat taken care of, Louis tries to shake off the last bits of sleep still thrumming through his limbs. While Harry may have slept like a rock, Louis tossed and turned endlessly. He was up worrying, as he often does. He wanders to the living room and sinks into the couch, propping his feet up on Gemma’s coffee table. The cushions still smell of Harry, and Louis groans out loud, knowing that what he feels already is totally useless and out of control. He checks the time, noting it’s perfectly acceptable for him to call Liam and see what he’s up to.

“Liam, I need you to help me,” he says into the phone. He can hear a low murmur of voices behind Liam. Most likely, Liam’s scurrying around the city picking up some last minute Christmas prezzies. 

“Mate, you’ve caught me at my most vulnerable. I’m in Waterstones at the moment trying to find the perfect gift for Zayn. I know you don’t know him yet, but do you think he’d like mystery novels over like… dramatic thrillers? I can’t decide,” Liam says. 

“Whatever you pick for him, he’ll love. Speaking of loving things, Los Angeles is pretty fucking amazing. Wish you were here,” Louis says, settling deeper into the couch. It’s so comfortable. No wonder Harry slept so well. That, and the wine.

“Your weather beats the hell out of what’s going on here. I should mention, your mum rang me. She was furious you left and wanted to know what I knew about it,” Liam says. Louis hears a thud and a muffled yelp, and then Liam’s on the line again. “Sorry, dropped the phone. Think I’m getting him a mystery. Moody.”

“Mum called you? Oh perfect. She knows I’m here and she basically hates me. The whole family probably hates me, really. Been trying to keep my mind off it,” Louis says with a sigh.

“Hey, what happened with the bloke you met? The photo you sent me was blurry so I couldn’t tell what he looked like,” Liam says. Louis stares up at the ceiling, unsure what to say.

“Oh, Harry. He spent the night,” Louis says. He can hear Liam ringing up his purchase, a few beeps sounding off in the background.

“You whore,” Liam says jovially. Louis blushes like he’s right next to Liam in the shop, perusing the aisles with him.

“Shut up, will you. It wasn’t like that. He slept on the couch. We both had a lot to drink. It was nothing,” Louis says. Liam laughs at that.

“But you want it to be something. I can tell just by your tone. I say just go for it, mate. If he’s cute, and single, and nice then what does it matter?” Liam asks. Louis scratches the back of his head, digging his fingers into his scalp. 

“Me and Edwin only just broke up, Liam. I can’t just go fall into bed with someone else immediately. I’m damaged and heartbroken, and Harry isn’t even that cute,” Louis says. That’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. Paintings should be done of Harry, hung up in galleries all over the world so everyone can gaze at his quirky beauty.

“Sure you can. People do it all the time. Edwin’s a fuckwad, and I just want you to be happy. When do you see him again? Since he’s Gemma’s brother, I expect he’ll be round to her house again soon. Just act on whatever you feel, for once. Put yourself first, say fuck it to your alleged heartbreak, and consider him your early Christmas gift to yourself,” Liam says. Wind whistles on the other end of the phone and Louis presses his ear closer so Liam can hear him. 

“He probably wouldn’t even be interested. He’s coming round tonight to take me to a party. It’s one of those ones you and Zayn were going to throw. Something with sweaters,” Louis says. 

“You’re going to an ugly Christmas sweater party without me? You’re the worst. Can’t imagine you brought any sweaters with you, right?” Liam asks.

“Harry said he’s letting me pick from some mystery collection of his,” Louis says. He has no idea what constitutes ugly in a tradition such as this. 

“Oh, Lou. He must like you a whole lot if the man’s willing to share his sweater collection. You pair will be married by the new year at this rate,” Liam says with a cackle. Louis forces himself not to smile when he thinks about the upcoming night ahead. 

“I’ll update you as the night goes on. I need to go squint at my eyebrows in the mirror and see if they need a wax,” Louis says, hanging up on Liam and dropping his phone onto the couch. Harry won’t be here for hours, which leaves him plenty of time to scrub himself raw and do a little primping in front of the mirror. He may be forced to wear the ugliest sweater imaginable but at least he’ll look pretty doing it.


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

 

His head is hazy, and all the twinkling lights are swimming in front of him. Harry gently takes the hookah hose from him and brings it to his own lips. Now their spit has mingled, Louis thinks. Technically, they’ve now kissed. He giggles softly to himself. Whatever weed they have out here in California is so much more potent than the stuff him and Liam got up to in school.

“I love the reindeers on your sweater. Are they all doing the tango? Wild,” Harry’s friend Niall says. His voice cuts through the fog in Louis’ brain. He tears his eyes away from Harry’s lips and tries to focus on the blonde dynamo sitting beside him. They’ve packed themselves into a corner of the party away from all the other guests milling about. 

“Harry picked it out. He forced this on me. I hate reindeer. I hate the tango, too,” Louis says, biting his lip as Harry puffs out perfect smoke rings. The wanker  _ would _ be able to do that. What a cheap party trick. Niall swipes the hose from Harry and starts to take another hit. The party’s been in full swing for the last few hours. Niall is Harry’s best friend from college, so he explained in his Jeep on the way over. Niall’s place is a rented bachelor pad that’s nestled comfortably in some neighborhood called Eagle Rock. Harry prattled on in the car about the laid-back personality of Niall and how he wanted to embrace that in where he lived. The party rages in his backyard. Niall’s strung up Christmas lights amongst all the trees, and someone actually brought an ice luge for alcohol carved in the shape of a penguin.

“Do you hate the tango, Louis, or all dancing entirely?” Harry asks him. It’s like his voice is coming from light years away. Harry opted to wear a cheerful green sweater that has a jolly Elf giving the finger. He also is sporting antlers with bells on them. Louis had made quick work to make fun of when he’d arrived at Gemma’s earlier in the night. 

“Not much of a dancer. Only if the spirit moves me,” Louis says, happy when Niall passes him the hose again. He barely gets any smoke building in his lungs before Harry knocks the hose out of his hand and pulls him to his feet. 

“What the fuck, I could’ve choked on that,” Louis says, intending to be angry but the weed is making his voice come out soft and slow. 

“It’s a Christmas party, Louis Tomlinson. What better excuse to dance than thanks to the Christmas spirit,” Harry says, pulling Louis away from Niall and the hookah. Harry’s hand feels good in his.

“I have no Christmas spirit, Harry Styles. I know you probably really love this techno-remix of Jingle Bells but for some of us, we’d rather just get high and forget it all,” Louis says. Harry tugs him through the crowd of people, everyone dressed in outfits ranging from tacky to flat-out ridiculous. Louis stands behind Harry, impatient, while he grabs them drinks from a bar station Niall had setup. He feels like his palms are sweaty, but he keeps gripping Harry’s hand. If he lets go of him, Louis won’t be able to stand up straight. Harry shoves a glass of beer into his hand and clinks his own glass against it.

“Drink up. Rumor has it, Niall put an acoustic version of I’m Gettin’ Nuttin’ For Christmas on here, and I don’t want to miss it,” Harry says, taking a long gulp of his beer. A bit of foam is left behind on his upper lip. Louis just takes a swig of his own, feeling his body loosen even more. They stand together, Harry’s grip never wavering, while people mosh around them. Louis just keeps drinking, gulping his beer down faster so he doesn’t have to keep actively speaking to Harry. Harry, who makes even a rude, tacky sweater look like he just stepped off a runway. Niall bops around the crowd, his blonde hair peeking out every so often as he jumps around. 

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?” Harry shouts over the beat of Jingle Bells. He throws his cup to the ground and kicks it out of the way. The song ends then, abruptly changing to something much slower and softer. Louis laughs at the way Harry’s voice booms into the night. He drops his own empty cup and mimics Harry, launching his cup into a group of girls who’ve surrounded Niall. 

“Long story. Just trying to avoid it this year,” Louis says, watching the crowd slow down around them into one large, swaying mass of people. The Christmas lights cast a gorgeous glow on the party, and Louis closes his eyes just for a minute.

“How about you dance with me and give me the short version, then,” Harry says. His hands reach for Louis’ hips before he has a chance to protest. When he opens his eyes again, he’s pressed against Harry with his chin hooked into the top of his shoulder. Harry rests one of his hands lightly on Louis’ lower back and grabs his hand to lead him around Niall’s backyard.

“Really? We’re going to dance the tango? You’re the very strangest person. How can Gemma stand being related to you?” Louis asks, gripping Harry’s hand tighter and matching him step for step. They dance sloppy, Louis throwing himself into the moves with more gusto than he expected. When Harry goes to spin him, he turns so hard he knocks the drink out of some bloke’s hand.

“Apologies! Will get you another after we’re done,” Harry says with a laugh, shoving Louis in the opposite direction. 

“Was a breakup that brought me here, if you must know,” Louis begins, the beer and the weed causing all his little secrets to escape from the cage he was keeping them in. Harry stays silent. He just looks at Louis with those achingly open, green eyes of his. 

“Got cheated on, just before the holidays. Felt a bit sorry for himself and didn’t want to face Christmas as a sad, single guy. So I fucked off to Los Angeles and landed in your sister’s place. Couldn’t face my family,” Louis says, letting Harry dip him again before slowly bringing him back up.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry says.

“Edwin was, I thought, the love of my life. Everyone thought we’d be getting married, but instead he decided he’d had enough of me,” Louis says, feeling a little sad again. His buzz is wearing off faster than he wants it to. He wishes he could get caught up in the lights and the glow, and the way it feels having Harry hold him like this, but it’s hard. 

“You deserve a lot better, I can tell. Edwin was crazy to let you go. If he’d seen you in this reindeer sweater, he’d have never thought twice,” Harry says, pulling on the shoulder of Louis’ sweater. Louis laughs miserably and ducks his head lower, not wanting to make eye contact anymore. 

“Even if you don’t really mean it, that’s nice to hear,” Louis says. He places his chin back in the spot near Harry’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t mind, knowing he doesn’t mind. When the song ends, they move apart automatically. Their hands unclasp, and Niall bounds over, urging them to take a photo with him for his scrapbook he’s making for the party. Someone gets out a Polaroid camera and Louis grins for the camera, his body smushed between Harry and Niall. He pockets one of the shots, planning to stow it somewhere safe in his luggage. After too many flashes of light from the camera, and one last grab of snacks in Niall’s kitchen, Harry and Louis bid Niall goodnight. 

“Great party,” Harry says as they hop back in his Jeep. Louis is about to stop him from trying to drive but realizes Harry only had one drink the whole night. When they’d first arrived, Louis bee-lined straight for the bar because he couldn’t imagine being less comfortable and needed a bit of liquid courage. 

“Niall seems great. It’s nice you two are such good friends. My best mate’s name is Liam. I think you’d like him. He’s got a wonky sense of humor, much like you,” Louis says, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. They pull out from Niall’s and make the drive back to Gemma’s, each neighborhood slowly becoming more extravagant than the last.

“He’s one of those people who can just pick me up when I get down. Loyal, really funny, throws great parties. What else could you ever want in a friend?” Harry says, smiling over at Louis in the dark. 

“Sorry for unloading all my drama on you tonight. When I smoke, I get a little too honest,” Louis says. Harry says nothing to that, just keeps driving with his eyes trained on the road. When they pull into Gemma’s driveway, Louis can’t hold back the yawn that escapes him. 

“Appreciate the ride, and the invite to the party. Your tango skills aren’t too piss-poor either,” Louis says, reaching blindly for the door handle. Harry lays a hand on his arm and he freezes. He couldn’t leave this car if he tried now. His entire body is tense and he looks at Harry, who’s got a hopeful look on his face. God help them both if he drifts forward in the next two seconds. The look lingers and Louis holds his breath.

“Don’t want you to leave just yet. I actually, well… I have something for you,” Harry says, removing his hand from Louis’ arm and then ducking into the backseat of the Jeep. Louis watches him rummage, a little relieved their charged little moment didn’t end in a kiss or something. This is easier. Just watch Harry’s arse bounce up and down as he leans over the backseat. Simple. Harry pops back up with a box in his hands. He thrusts the box at Louis and grins.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, taking the box from him hesitantly. 

“Well, you never came back to the shop,” Harry says, his nostrils flaring a little. Louis blinks for a second and shakes his head. Did Harry just do a nose scrunch at him? The beer and the weed must still be fucking with his sense of perception.

“The Holiday Hut. Duly noted, Harry. Very powerful skills of observation you have. Doesn’t explain this box, though, does it?” Louis says. He goes to open it, gently cradling back the flaps. A bed of crepe paper lines the inside and he picks it up to take a peek of what’s actually inside.

“Harry, you didn’t,” he says, his voice coming out in only a whisper. It’s silent in the car. Harry had turned off the engine when he’d pulled up to Gemma’s. Nestled inside the box is a snow globe, the one with the polar bears that he’d had his eye on. 

“You mentioned you needed something for your mum. Thought this would fit the bill. We ship from the store so I can send it out tomorrow. We’re open limited hours on the day before Christmas Eve, but I bet it can get to her if we send it first thing,” Harry says. Louis is stunned into silence. Harry just waits, and Louis watches the smallest hint of fear flicker across his face, as if he’s done something wrong.

“This is perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. How thoughtful of you. I was thinking of doing this, getting my mum something. She’s not speaking to me at the moment and… I had hoped something like this could be a peace offering,” Louis says. He wants to fling his arms around Harry and give him the biggest hug he can muster, but he doesn’t. He just closes up the flaps and smooths out the crepe paper. She’ll love this. 

“So, you like it. You think she’ll like it?” Harry asks.

“Definitely. Stellar idea, Harry. I’ll pay for all the shipping in the morning, do the 1-Day rush if we can. God, this is wonderful. It’s too much, I’m paying you for the snow globe,” Louis says, giving the box back to Harry. Harry shakes his head, his mane of hair bouncing every which way.

“No need to pay me back. All I ask in return is that, maybe, you join me and my family on Christmas Eve. I take it you have nowhere to go, right? Sitting all alone in Gemma’s mansion is hardly what you need to be doing when you’re sad at the holidays,” Harry says. Louis grips the passenger handle and lets himself out of the Jeep. If he stays one more second, he’ll propose marriage to Harry. No doubt. He stands in the driveway, leaning into the car and peering at Harry.

“My plan was to drink myself silly and forget all that’s happened in the last two weeks of my life. But know what, Styles? I just may take you up on it. That’d be lovely. Really,” Louis says. He shuts the door before he can say anymore, rushing to Gemma’s front door and away from Harry. He’s too kind, too generous, too everything Edwin wasn’t and never could be. Louis feels much like he’s back in high school with a crush when he lets himself into Gemma’s house. As he closes her front door behind him, he dramatically flails against it and sinks to the floor. Tibbles pops his head around from the kitchen and pads closer to him.

“Tibbles, I’ve had the most marvelous night. Your uncle is quickly becoming my favorite person,” Louis whispers, tiny butterflies beginning to rise in the pit of his stomach. He still has Harry’s tangoing reindeer sweater on. He makes a note to give it back to him the next day at Holiday Hut. Tibbles comes up closer to him and lets Louis scratch behind his ears. Progress, finally. 


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

 

“Shall I bring anything to your family’s place? Rustle up a nice roasted duck? Perhaps scare them all with a Christmas pudding that’s nothing like American pudding?” Louis asks, smoothing down a last bit of holiday wrapping tape he’s using to box up his mum’s snow globe.

“You showing up is all we’ll need. Since Gemma’s across the ocean, it’ll be nice to have someone else around to take her spot,” Harry says, snatching the box out of Louis’ hands. Louis takes another look around The Holiday Hut. There hasn’t been one customer in yet, but it’s early. Stupidly early. Harry let him into the shop before official opening hours so they could get the snow globe into the mail. Harry’s boss, a big man named Tony, had eyed him up and down as he snuck in behind Harry with his tangoing reindeer sweater balled up in his hands.

“Who’s this?” Tony had said, not looking very jolly at all.

“Louis. A new...  _ friend _ of mine,” Harry says. Louis didn’t pretend not to be affected by the hesitance in Harry’s words. His eyebrows jumped but Harry didn’t see him, just continued talking. “Sending something off to England for him this morning. Louis, this is Tony,” Harry had said, placing a lingering hand on Louis’ lower back and shoving him forward to shake Tony’s hand. Tony just scowls and walks away. 

“A lovely lot, your coworkers,” Louis had muttered under his breath, not wanting to talk too loud. Tony’s been rummaging somewhere in the back since Louis arrived. Louis leans against the front counter, propping his chin on both his hands. Harry’s sweater lays neatly folded next to his mum’s box.

“Are you sure it won’t be weird, me showing up to your family’s Christmas Eve? I mean, you hardly know me. And your family members don’t know me at all. In fact, this still goes against every fiber of my being. Avoiding Christmas means  _ actually _ avoiding Christmas,” Louis says. Harry hands him a pen and he scribbles his mum’s name and address down. He feels hypocritical at the moment. His whole plan was to come to America and bunk down in Gemma’s mansion to avoid feeling anything, anything at all. That meant no thoughts of Edwin, no thoughts of holidays, nothing. But he can’t ignore the zap of total electricity when Harry’s hand brushes his when he gives him back the pen.

“The more the merrier, Louis. Promise they’ll be nice,” Harry says with a shrug and a flash of one of his dimples. He’s swapped out his usual Elf hat for a Santa hat today. Louis flicks the top of it before backing away from the counter, walking backwards towards the exit. 

“Alright, then I’ll see you when? I need your address, too,” Louis says. A jingling bell sounds, meaning the store is officially opened for business. Louis steps around the new customer, his back against the exit door with Harry’s eyes still on him. Harry shouts a merry hello to the customer who looks a bit startled from the enthusiasm and joy in his voice. 

“Will text you all the details. See you tomorrow,” Harry says, waving at him before bounding off to help the customer. Louis smiles to himself as he leaves the shop, already considering purchasing the Styles family a nice bottle of wine or some sweets to make up for his intrusion on their holiday. He lopes around The Grove for a while, popping in to a fancy candy shop where he buys a bit of peppermint bark that’s way overpriced. He has no clue if Harry’s dad, perhaps, is allergic to mint or anything. He decides to take his chances though. As the morning goes on, Louis picks up a bottle of Shiraz that isn’t too pricey. A part of him hopes that Harry will drink the majority, and then become clingy and forward again. As he makes the drive home, another sunny day in his little version of paradise, a call comes in on his cell. He fumbles for it at a red light and picks up before checking who’s actually calling. 

“I can’t fucking believe you. Almost didn’t believe mum when she told me. You know, I’ve been giving myself a day or so to stew, but know what? I’m still fucking mad,” Lottie screeches into the phone. Louis winces and tries to pay attention to the road, forcing himself to remember to stay on his own side of the street. Gemma’s place isn’t too far from here, thank goodness. 

“Lottie, lovely to hear from you, too,” Louis says, his mood shifting suddenly to total annoyance. He understands his family is angry but Lottie doesn’t need to kick off the phone call in this state. None of them even understand.

“So when were you going to tell me, huh? Perhaps you thought I’d just overlook your absence at Christmas dinner? Please tell me this isn’t all about Edwin,” Lottie says. Louis makes a quick turn into Gemma’s driveway, punching in the code before pulling the car through the gates. He lets himself park before speaking again, making sure to slam the car door extra loud. Him and Lottie speak angrily as he walks into the house.

“It is, in fact, about Edwin. I am just totally exhausted, Lottie. I didn’t have it in me to deal with mum, and all of you, and the traditions and my empty flat,” Louis says, crouching down to give Tibbles a rough pet. “I needed to just get away from it all. If Matt broke up with you, tell me you wouldn’t want to do the same.”

“That’s different and you know it. Me and Matt have been together for four years, Louis. I know you’re upset over Edwin but don’t you think this took it a little too far? Have you spoken to him? Mum told me you’re somewhere in California...what’s the place like?” Lottie asks. Louis rolls his eyes at that. Lottie can go from one mood to the next in three seconds flat. 

“Nosy. Make up your mind, Lottie. Are you angry at me for splitting on Christmas, or are you curious about my impromptu vacation?” Louis asks, moving through the house and kicking off his shoes before heading outside for the pool. The water shimmers, and he knows if he dips a toe in, it’ll be wonderfully warm. Tibbles joins him out on the patio, and he lowers himself down into a lounge chair.

“Since Edwin is the worst, I think I’d rather hear about the place you’re staying at. Mum wasn’t heavy on details. She’s been too pissed at you to even speak your name, really,” Lottie says, her voice softening. 

“Yeah, I’m not her favorite person. She told me not to even call on Christmas, Lottie. I sent her a gift though, this morning. Harry helped me pack it up, and it should reach the house in time for Christmas Eve,” Louis says. 

“Who’s Harry, Louis?” Lottie asks. He can practically hear her smiling all the way in Doncaster. Figures she’d jump on that one tiny detail, instead of asking him about the lovely gift he’d sent to mum. Louis watches Tibbles inch close to the pool’s edge. One tiny wobble, and he’ll fall straight into the deep end. That’s kind of how he feels with Harry. Has no real, true idea how he feels about him from all the mixed signals he’s gotten. But if Harry did one thing, if he made some kind of definitive attempt to be with Louis, then Louis would be in. He’d dive right in with no regard for how shallow the waters might be. 

“Well, Lottie, let me start at the beginning. Would you like to just FaceTime me? I can show you the house I’m staying in. It’s sick,” Louis says, primed to switch over to a video call with his oldest sister. Within minutes, Lottie’s face is taking up most of his phone screen as he regales her with the humble beginnings of his adventure. He grins to the camera when Lottie flicks him off, and then switches the camera over to forward-facing so she can see the pool he’s lounging at.

“You lucky fucker. So, you did a house-swap program? Who the hell lives here, some rich, old bastard?” Lottie asks, gasping in awe at the pool.

“I’m staying in the home of this girl named Gemma Styles. She’s a wildly famous children's book author. I really should’ve gone into writing instead of selling insurance in a cubicle,” Louis says, sparing one thought for his shitty desk job back home. He spends most of his days staring at beige everything, cold calling people to convince them to switch providers. It’s mind-numbing work, nothing like Gemma’s job where she creates something out of nothing. Louis moves from the pool and swings the camera along as he walks into the house, showing off the living room and kitchen.

“It’s like a palace. And wait, is that a cat? Are you cat sitting?” Lottie asks. Louis crouches and shoves his phone in front of Tibbles, who gives him a tiny, curious meow before bounding out of sight.

“That was Tibbles, Gemma’s cat. I’m babysitting him for my time here. We’ve taken a slow liking to each other. He only let me pet him for the first time yesterday,” Louis says, giving Lottie a peek into Gemma’s office. Lottie remarks on the sheer amount of books Gemma’s written, losing her damn mind over all the interior decorating of the house. When she sees the spiral staircase, she audibly squeals. Louis switches the camera so he can see her face at that.

“You need to relax. It’s a spiral staircase, Lottie, not the Taj Mahal. Now, remember when you asked about Harry? I’m going to show you a picture of him. You’re going to die,” he says, switching the camera back so she can watch him walk up the stairs and pass by the guest room and photos on Gemma’s walls. 

“Wait, what’s Harry’s picture doing in Gemma’s house?” Lottie asks as he gives her a wide shot of Gemma’s gigantic bedroom.

“Funny that. Harry’s her gorgeous brother. I met him when he was dressed as an elf at The Holiday Hut. It’s where I got mum’s present,” Louis says, finally picking up the framed photo of Harry and his family. 

“Wow, that hair. He’s got a great jawline. Is this your rebound to get over Edwin?” she asks. Louis places the frame down and walks into the bathroom so she can check out the tub.

“Not a rebound. Nothing’s happened yet. I’m not even sure I want it to, anyways,” Louis says, finally getting his face back on camera so he can look at Lottie directly.

“You’re blushing. I can see it, even with the shit quality of your camera. You like him. You totally like him,” Lottie says, teasing him mercilessly. Louis sees a blob of motion behind Lottie, and his other sister Fizzy peeks into frame.

“Oi, it’s the traitor,” Fizzy says. Louis feels personally attacked now. One angry Tomlinson woman is bad enough, but two? Two is officially a gang-up. 

“Leave him be, Fizzy. We can’t be too mad at him for not being at Christmas. He’s staying in a mansion and has a possible new love interest named Harry. That beats the hell out of Donny,” Lottie says. Fizzy sneers at him through the screen, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching just so.

“Oh really now? Shall we tell mum that Louis met the new love of his life while on holiday in America? She’ll fucking love that,” Fizzy says.

“Fuck off, the both of you. Harry’s a friend. A hot friend, who stayed over one night because he got too drunk on wine,” Louis says, flopping on Gemma’s bed. 

“What have you and Harry been up to since you’ve been out in California?” Fizzy asks. Lottie grins at that and cocks her head. They both stare at him without speaking, waiting for him to respond. Louis hears the jangle of Tibbles’ collar and watches as he waddles in. His tail swishes back and forth before he hops up on the bed, settling his big bum right next to Louis’ head. Louis sighs and scratches some of his fur.

“Not much. He made me dinner the first night after we met. He took me to a party his friend threw. And you know, he’s invited me to his family’s Christmas so I’m not alone,” Louis says, feeling sheepish. Lottie and Fizzy explode over that.

“Told you he’s a traitor. You’re going to some hot bloke’s Christmas stuff but couldn’t be arsed to come to your own family’s? Really nice, Louis,” Fizzy says, pouting.

“Girls, I didn’t plan on this. He’s so nice. Nicer than Edwin, more patient than Edwin, more interesting. I love all of you, I love all of you the very most out of anyone on this planet. But it’s been nice doing something just for me,” Louis says, trying to comfort them. 

“I’m still mad at you, Louis. But I also get it,” Lottie says, while Fizzy audibly huffs. 

“Can one of you let me know if mum gets my gift, please? I think she’ll really like it. I’d really like to call on Christmas, if she’ll let me,” Louis says, dragging a hand down his face. He’s suddenly tired, not enough sleep and the stress of talking to his family making his eyes heavy. 

“Of course. Listen, keep us updated on Harry. I won’t mention it to mum. When will you be back?” Lottie asks. Fizzy waves at him and walks out of the room, leaving just him and Lottie on the phone.

“New Year’s day is my plan. I’m coming straight to Donny,” Louis says, smiling at Lottie. She smiles back at him, kindness in her eyes.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed that all goes well for you with the new bloke. You could use a Christmas miracle,” she says. Louis laughs at that. What a preposterous idea, the kind that’s only found in movies. He needs a lot more than just a simple Christmas miracle.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

 

Louis paces in front of the door. He’s early, earlier than he wanted to be. He never trusts himself to get anywhere on time, so he left with a good 20 minutes to spare. He didn’t know if there’d be traffic, but surprise, the streets were pretty clear. He stares up at the Styles’ house, a much more modest home than Gemma’s. It’s a lovely brick build with blue shutters and a black door. He hops down from the porch step to the sidewalk, muttering to himself while bathed in the glow of the icicle lights that line the porch awning.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommo. Just because he invited you for Christmas Eve doesn’t mean he’s at all interested,” Louis whispers, continuing his pacing. He clutches the peppermint bark he purchased in one hand, and the Shiraz in the other. He had no idea what to wear to this shindig, so he went for a bit more of a dressed-up look. He threw on a comfortable pair of beige corduroys with a soft, green cashmere sweater his mum got him last Christmas. His phone beeps in his pocket, and he pulls it out. A photo message from his mum greets him. She’s grinning from ear to ear, holding up the snowglobe he sent off only yesterday.

**Mum [22:01] : Boo Bear, it’s beautiful. Still cross at you for not being here, but the gift is lovely. Spending the holidays with someone special, I hear?**

**Louis [22:02] : Glad you like it. Happy Christmas, mum. Will be ringing you lot tomorrow if that’s alright now. Who told you my holiday plans? Harry is JUST a friend.**

**Mum [22:02] : Sure, sure. We’ll love to hear all about it tomorrow. Send me a photo, I miss your face. So do all your sisters.**

Louis grins down at his phone, taking a selfie with the Christmas lights in the background and shooting  it off to his mum. A tense part of his heart loosens, and he feels like he can breathe better. Knowing his mum has enough decency to tease him means she’s had enough time to cool off. His breathing tightens again when he spins around and faces the door.

“Stop being an idiot. They’re just a family. It’s just a house. Harry’s just another guy,” he whispers to himself, marching up to the door feeling suddenly determined. He raps on it once and it opens, as if someone’s been waiting for him. Harry greets him with a sly smile. His hair’s pulled up in a messy bun and he’s got a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

“Done preening and giving yourself a pep talk outside?” Harry asks, pulling Louis into the house. He can only follow, tumbling into the foyer and taking in his surroundings.

“I wasn’t giving myself a pep talk,” Louis says pointedly, glaring at Harry. Harry swipes the wine from his hand and motions for him to follow into the kitchen.

“Sure you weren’t. Mom, Dad, extended family, Louis is here,” Harry shouts. Louis feels shy and quite awkward. These people are going to take one look at him and send him back scampering to Gemma’s. There’s quite a bit of noise in the kitchen and Louis is surprised at all the people who stand up to greet him immediately. He’s pulled into quite a few hugs, getting some backslaps from various Styles family members. 

“Good to meet you, Louis. We were so excited Harry met the man who swapped with Gemma. That’s quite a coincidence that you two met,” someone says to Louis, extending their hand. “I’m Robin, Harry’s step-dad. And this beauty over here is my wife, Anne.” Harry rolls his eyes at that, and Louis gets pulled into a warm hug from Anne, who murmurs against his ear.

“Lovely to meet you, Louis. Harry hasn’t shut up about you since he met you at The Hut,” she whispers.

“I can hear you, you know. Louis, the rest of this bunch consists of my Grandma Marian, Grandpa Joe, Uncle Phil, Uncle Buzz, Uncle Cary, Aunt Jean, Aunt Kathy, Aunt Louise and my cousins… look out, there are quite a few underfoot...  Hayley, Marshall, Sara, Crosby and Mallory. But there are two missing in action. Where’d they go? Probably poring over Gemma’s magazines she left behind last time she was here. Ellie, Fiona, get in here. The guest of honor has arrived,” Harry bellows. Louis ducks his head, protesting.

“No, no. Just pretend I’m not here. I really do appreciate all of you letting me crash your Christmas Eve. Er, I brought peppermint bark. You can all have one piece only, though. Didn’t realize there’d be so many of you,” Louis says, holding it out and hoping someone scoops it out of his hands. Anne takes it, popping the lid and setting it down on the tiny kitchen table. Everyone floods him at once, asking him questions about England that he’s happy to answer. It’s easier, talking about home. It makes him a little sad, and he does his best to deflect his real reasons for showing up in America at the holidays. As dinner is served and he settles in amongst the chaos, he begins to feel a tad more comfortable with this turn of events.

“Gemma seems like such a talented writer. Must be amazing having her in the family. I’m sure you all miss her tonight,” Louis says to one of Harry’s uncles. Everyone made room for him to sit at the long dining room table. One of Harry’s cousins, maybe Ellie but he’s not sure, launches a paper airplane made of the Christmas napkins at their table. It lands in a dish of baked corn and everyone laughs. 

“She’s over annoyingly often. I don’t mind too much. Between stopping in at my parents’ and crashing with me in my apartment, you’d think she didn’t have a huge-ass mansion to dwell in,” Harry says to his right. He insisted on sitting next to Louis, elbowing him every time Robin would get a bit of roast ham stuck in his mustache. Their wine glasses stay full all through dinner and Louis can feel a lovely buzz settling over him. Harry’s family reminds him of his own at home. Everyone’s loud, everyone’s boisterous, everyone could probably drink the Tomlinson brood under the table.

“So,” Louis whispers to Harry as dinner continues, knocking his knee against his. “You haven’t shut up about me to your own mum? That was nice to hear.” Harry grins down at his bowl of brussel sprouts and bacon, popping a few into his mouth before responding.

“It’s not what you think. I’m just a little fond of you, Louis. I wasn’t anticipating someone cool to be swapping my sister’s house, that’s all,” Harry whispers. Louis goes to grab a dinner roll but Sara, one of the older cousins, beats him to it. He settles for spooning himself a bit of the baked corn. 

“I told myself before I got here that I’d be proper swearing off men for a while,” Louis says, shoving a forkful of food in his mouth to buy some more time. The conversation swarms around them, and Harry just stares at him behind his glasses, those fucking glasses that make him look intellectual and gorgeous. Louis doesn’t want to swoon but he can’t help it. 

“And have you changed your mind?” Harry asks in a soft voice. Louis is about to answer but Anne interrupts, standing up from the table with a maniacal grin on her face.

“It’s time for the annual Styles cookie-off. Everyone to the living room, grab a ballot sheet and your wine glasses. We’ve got a lot of voting to get through. Harry, get Louis another glass of the Shiraz won’t you? Louis, you’ll love this,” Anne says. The herd moves to the living room, but Harry steers Louis back to the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine to open. Louis holds out his glass, smiling like a loon at Harry.

“What’s a cookie-off, love?” Louis asks, his smile widening as his wine glass gets refilled. 

“Love?” Harry asks, cocking an eyebrow and sticking his tongue out a little. 

“It’s a British expression, don’t be cheeky,” Louis retorts. Harry just shakes his head at Louis and tops off his own glass before retreating into the living room. Cozy doesn’t begin to describe the Styles’ main living space. A fat, fake Christmas tree is lit up in the corner with gifts below it. Anne has a variety of angels perched on various surfaces, and Louis is delighted to see a few framed shots of young Gemma and Harry. He smirks at one of Harry shirtless, probably about 12 years old, holding up a fish and flexing his tiny muscles.

“Cute,” he says, laughing when Harry casually takes the frame and sets it face down on the side table. The whole Styles clan has squished into the living room where a folding table has various plates of cookies set up. They’re all numbered, and Anne presses a ballot slip into his hands.

“You vote for your favorites. We’re cut-throat around here. Winner gets $50,” she whispers, passing out ballots to the rest of the family. Louis shuffles behind the long line, Harry pressed in close behind him. If he didn’t quite know better, he’d think he was doing it on purpose. He can feel nearly every breath Harry takes, the brunt of his chest arching against his back. When his crotch bumps up against Louis’ arse, he turns around and gives him a look.

“There’s plenty of room here, Harry. Didn’t think you were so over eager about cookies,” Louis hisses. He can feel his skin growing hot, fire creeping up the back of his neck. Goosebumps raise on his skin when Harry leans in, whispering in his ear right before he tastes the first cookie.

“Your sweater looks really nice. Goes well with your eyes,” he says in a low voice. The cookie Louis was munching on crumbles in his hands and he quickly moves onto the next one. He picks up what looks to be some kind of ladyfinger and pops it into his mouth, keeping his eyes on Harry who’s looking the most smug right now. 

“Well, blue and green, everyone knows they go together. Move along, Harold. Lots of cookies to try,” he babbles, flitting from tray to tray and cramming more bites into his mouth. By the end, his stomach is aching, but he’s figured out a winner. Harry continues to stand uncomfortably close to him, the heat from his upper arm searing into Louis’ shoulder. Anne announces that Mallory’s cinnamon scones have won the contest and Harry groans, pouting as she claims her prize. She flutters her eyebrows at Harry, rippling the crisp $50 bill right in front of him.

“Unfair. My pecan sandies should’ve won. You know, Louis, I used to be a baker when I was in college. Had this dream of opening my own shop, baking little organic treats for the world,” Harry says, swaying a little on his feet. The younger cousins start ripping into presents then, and Louis settles on the floor next to Harry, wishing he could stay in this holiday bubble forever. Christmas doesn’t look so bad here, in this warm house, next to this tall, gangling boy.

“Why didn’t you open the shop, then? I much liked the pecan sandies. Think those were my number one pick,” Louis whispers, gently leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. It’s innocent, the motion. His head feels tired, his tongue feels thick with wine, and everything feels gloriously warm. He pretends not to notice Anne watching them with a hopeful gaze written plainly on her face. He’d move away from Harry but it feels too nice. He keeps talking about his bakery dream, informing Louis that he ended up getting his MBA instead because some shitty ex of his told him he wouldn’t be good enough to do what he really wanted with his life. 

The hours pass and the party begins to die down around 11, many of Harry’s family members starting to head for the door. Louis gets up, too, not wanting to be rude and overstaying his welcome. As he heads for the door, Harry pulls on the back of his sweater, stopping him in his tracks. Louis spins around, confused.

“Where are you off to?” Harry asks. Louis can see Anne and Robin moving around the living room, throwing away all the excess wrapping paper and clearing off the cookie tables.

“I can help clean, if you’d like, before I go. Your parents shouldn’t have to do all this themselves,” Louis says, understanding dawning on him. It’d be rude to bail out now. The house is a mess. A contained, happy mess - but a mess, nonetheless. 

“No, you’re our guest. No clean up for you. But, you’re in no shape to drive. Bunk over tonight. My grandparents are in the guest room, but you can just shack with me,” Harry says with a very unsubtle wink. Butterflies flurry around in Louis’ stomach and he thinks he might throw up at the thought, but he just grips the bannister to the second floor instead.

“I already invaded your Christmas Eve. I’ll call an Uber home,” Louis says, backing away out of Harry’s personal space. Harry takes off his glasses and rubs the frames along the edge of his sweater.

“No way. Mom would kill me if she knew you were going home to an empty house. Listen, head upstairs. First door on the left, I’ve got a bunch of spare pajamas in the bottom drawer of my dresser. It’s totally fine,” Harry says, patting Louis on the arm. Louis sighs and starts climbing the stairs. He can’t stop himself, like some ghost of Christmas Future has possessed his every step. When he reaches Harry’s room, he smiles a little. The pajamas are where Harry said they’d be, and he changes quickly, lest Harry waltz in and catch him in just his briefs. He flops on Harry’s bed, the wine and cookies lulling his eyes closed before Harry ever comes upstairs himself.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

 

Louis awakens to an all-dark room. Harry’s not on the bed beside him. He peers over the edge of the mattress and sees him sprawled on the floor, little wheezing breaths escaping him. The soft glow of an alarm clock tells him it’s the middle of the night, which is the perfect time to call his family and find out what presents everyone got. He rolls slowly out of bed and tiptoes over Harry, almost tripping over a laundry basket near the bedroom door. He pushes the door open softly and creeps into the hallway. No one else is up, which is lucky for him. Harry’s grandfather is snoring, each breath sounding like thunder. He slips downstairs and makes his holiday phone call in the living room. He takes a seat in an armchair next to the Christmas tree while he calls, the dial tone reassuring on the other end. His mum picks up and passes the phone straightaway to all his siblings.

“Happy Christmas, darlings,” he whispers to Phoebe and Daisy who get to be on first. “Tell me what Santa brought. I’m guessing coal, right?” They laugh at that and breathlessly tell him about their various dolls, toys and clothes they found under the tree. Daisy asks him when he’s coming home and he skirts the question, just tells her to put on Fizzy and Lottie.

“Having a good holiday, traitor? How was Christmas Eve?” Fizzy asks. He can hear Lottie laughing, too. The chaos in the Tomlinson house this morning is probably in full swing. Loads of wrapping paper everywhere, mum making french toast for everyone, Christmas songs booming through the speakers. It’s always lots of fun. 

“Was really nice. The Styles family does a bake-off. I’m actually still at the house,” Louis says, trying to keep his voice low.

“Wow, their party must go late then,” Lottie says, chiming in. Louis bites his lip and stares up at the tree, trying to make out the ornaments in the dark. 

“No, no. Everyone left, Harry invited me to stay over. Was sleeping in his room when I woke up and decided to call you lot. He was on the floor,” Louis says. 

“No budding romance, still? How boring. We miss you, Lou. Here’s mum,” Fizzy says. His mum gets back on the line and sounds much warmer towards him than last time they spoke.

“It’s not the same without you here, love,” she says.

“No worries. I’m bringing presents next time I’m visiting. Are you all heading to Nan’s then soon?” he asks her. He can hear giggles in the background, all his sisters stuffed into their living room. 

“Shortly here, once Miss Phoebe decides to comb her hair. So, you had a nice time then, at Harry’s?” she asks.

“Yeah, they’re really cool. The whole family. Made me miss you all a little more, though,” Louis says. He hears a creak coming from upstairs, and the clear sound of feet slowly coming down the stairs.

“Know what, mum, I should go. Think I woke someone up. Send my love to Nan and the girls,” Louis says, hanging up the phone before properly saying goodbye. He tenses in the armchair, closing his eyes and hoping he becomes invisible. He had planned to sneak back to bed without being detected.

“There you are,” a low voice says. Harry’s hovering at the entrance to the living room. His hair’s still up but it’s gone a little wild around his ears, stray bits of hair escaping from his bun. Louis breathes a little sigh of relief that it wasn’t the grandparents that he woke up.

“Sorry, was on the phone. Time difference to England’s a nightmare but I wanted to speak to my family,” Louis says, holding up his phone for evidence. Harry moves into the living room and slumps on the couch. He pats the cushion beside him and motions for Louis to join him. A pulse of anxiety shoots through Louis, but he gets up anyway and crosses the expanse of the living room. 

“Are they having a nice Christmas?” Harry asks as Louis takes a seat, not too close to him, on the couch. 

“It’s wild times, as usual. I have four little sisters and they’re all insane. Don’t know how mum puts up with all of them at once, honestly,” Louis says, smiling. Harry scooches closer to Louis just by a touch. Louis lets his eyes roam over the fireplace where Harry’s stocking is next to Gemma’s on the mantel.

“Got pictures on your phone? I’d love to see them,” Harry says, craning his neck to look down at Louis’ phone. He pulls up a few shots of the girls. Harry swipes through them, commenting on how cute Phoebe and Daisy are.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, honestly. You should go back to bed. The time difference is still screwing with me a little,” Louis says, pocketing his phone again. 

“Must be strange, right? Being so far from home on Christmas. I imagine our Christmas Eve was nothing like yours,” Harry says, tucking bits of stray hair behind his ears. Louis gulps and shakes his head. A yawn escapes him then and he clamps his hand over his mouth.

“See, you are tired. Come on, let’s go back to sleep. I was thinking, maybe me and Niall could help you throw a proper English Christmas if you want,” Harry says, rising from the couch and holding his hand out. Louis hesitates before taking it, letting Harry pull him to his feet.

“You want to recreate my own British Christmas with me? I reckon it’d be hard to pull off. Gemma’s kitchen is plenty big enough to cook everything in, but still, that’s a lot of work,” Louis says. His heart is beating fast now, and he’s never felt so understood and respected by someone else. It’s lovely, really, what Harry is trying to do. Trying to make him comfortable, trying to give him a tiny bit of the home he’d left behind for the holidays.

“I think we could do it. I think it’d be… how do you say it? Smashing,” Harry says, squeezing his hand. Louis looks down at their fingers intertwined. Harry leads him up the darkened stairs and they swing towards his bedroom, but not before Louis gets a glimpse of another empty room just down the hall.

“Harry, if you had an extra guest room—why didn’t you just make me bunk there?” Louis asks as he follows Harry into his room. Harry drops his hand and shuts the door behind them, twisting the lock and grinning extra big at Louis. He’s standing close to Louis and reaches out to lightly play with the hem on his shirt. Louis’ entire body stills and he looks at Harry, his gorgeous eyes practically glowing in the dark.

“Well, if you wouldn’t have fallen asleep so quickly I could’ve pulled off my master plan a little easier,” Harry says, invading more of Louis’ personal space. Louis’ back touches the door and he instinctively looks up at the ceiling to avoid Harry’s stare. He catches sight of a sprig of holly dangling, taped up against the door frame. Louis snorts when he sees it, leveling his gaze back at Harry.

“Mistletoe was your plan, then? How juvenile of you,” he says with confidence. On the inside, Louis is a jumble of nerves. Fresh terror is bubbling deep in his stomach, and he’s torn between wanting to close the distance between them and wanting to fling the door open and escape into the cool night. 

“I have you where I want you, though, Louis. If you’ll have me. I know you were trying to avoid men, and the holidays, and all of this, and I seem to have just thrown all of it at you at once. I’d really like to kiss you, though,” Harry says, lightly placing his hands on Louis’ hips. Louis thinks about all the reasons he shouldn’t do this. He thinks about his past baggage and Harry’s awful ex and how getting involved with some American could be the worst possible idea that’s ever crossed his mind. He took a leap making this trip. When he presses himself up on tiptoes and kisses Harry firmly on the mouth, it’s a leap of a different kind entirely.

Harry grips him tighter, his mouth warm and steady against his. They kiss quietly in the dark and Louis can’t help but think maybe this is part of that Christmas miracle that Lottie was talking about. Harry nips at his bottom lip, just enough to cause him a hint of pain. A noise escapes him then, one that Edwin never managed to pull out of him. 

“You like when I bite?” Harry murmurs, his breath hot against Louis’ mouth. Louis can’t begin to speak, can only wrap his arms around Harry’s neck. He wants closer, wants to feel Harry against him in this tiny, shadowed bedroom. The mistletoe keeps watch as they kiss and kiss, mouths overlapping. Louis’ jaw aches, but he doesn’t care, because Harry tastes of smoke and pecans and something dangerous. Minutes pass, and Harry pulls Louis to his bed. They tumble onto their sides together, never breaking their kiss. Louis touches Harry gently, nervously. His hand shakes as he smoothes his palm down Harry’s hipbone, feeling every dip and curve of his body.

“Harry,” Louis says, pulling away as they break a kiss. His voice sounds far away, like it’s coming out of someone else’s lips. “This is probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had. No doubt.” 

“Me, too. You know, what if you hadn’t come into my shop? We never would’ve met,” Harry says, propping his head up on his hand. Louis leans in and presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead. Harry smiles, and it warms Louis from the inside out. 

“Would’ve been tragic. Never would’ve learned you’re such a good baker,” Louis says, tracing his fingertips over Harry’s swollen lips. Harry goes to bite him then, gently teething over his index finger.

“And I wouldn’t have known you’re such a shitty dancer,” Harry says, rolling out of the way as Louis smacks him with a pillow. He rolls back to face Louis, his face more serious than before. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you, Louis.” The house is still around them, no creatures stirring, just Louis and Harry cozy in a bubble all their own. Outside the window, not a speck of snow falls, and Louis almost misses it. Back home, surely it’s blizzarding by now.  

“I hate my job. I sell insurance to cranky people, and I have to do a lot of cold-calls. Going back to that, after this holiday… I’m really not looking forward to it,” Louis offers up. 

“What would you do differently? Like, you go home and the slate’s wiped clean. What would you do?” Harry asks, reaching to smooth a bit of Louis’ hair down. The touch calms Louis and he can feel the allure of sleep pulling at him again.

“Would maybe go for graphic design or summat. I like drawing in my spare time, and I’d love to think I have a good eye for colours and things,” Louis says. The idea isn’t new to him, not exactly. But it’s much more powerful when he speaks it aloud. Here in Harry’s room, he almost thinks it’s possible. That when he goes home, when he leaves here… leaves Harry, a change of pace could be great. 

Louis frowns, doesn’t want to think of leaving Harry just yet. It’s crazy to even get upset about it already. He’s got a few more days out here and will try to make the most of them. “Now your turn, Harold. Got anything to fess up about yourself that I don’t know yet?” he asks, trying to make his voice enthusiastic. Harry reaches for the duvet cover and scrambles under it, motioning for Louis to do the same. They shimmy under the sheets, getting comfortable and stretching out until they’re both quite snug. Harry kisses Louis once on the mouth, a lingering kiss that wakes up the part of him he thought would be lying dormant after Edwin. Louis wants more, craves more, but Harry flops over on his side with his back to Louis. 

“I like to be little spoon, Lou. Hold me while we sleep?” Harry asks, his voice a bit muffled. Louis grins up at the ceiling and rolls on his side, sliding an arm around Harry’s waist and pressing his nose into Harry’s neck. He inhales and smells pecan sandies and a hint of soap. Harry’s hand pulls down on Louis’ arm, and they fall asleep pressed together. For the first time since being in Los Angeles, Louis doesn’t even dream.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

 

“So, are you guys fucking yet or what?” Niall asks as way of announcing himself when he arrives. Louis had Harry shoved up against the kitchen island and was lazily pressing kisses down the side of his neck when Niall burst in. He reels back away from Harry, who can’t stop laughing.

“Language, Niall. Now, give me the bags. We’ve got work to do,” Louis says, holding out his hands to take Niall’s shopping bags. He peeks inside each of them, pleased that Niall was able to find dates, pecans and oranges all in the same go. The other bag holds a few more Christmas pudding items, plus a large turkey for roasting.

“I found you your damn turkey. You repay me by sucking on my friend’s neck? Marvelous,” Niall says, throwing up his hands and shrugging off his jacket. Louis has been so caught up in Harry, in kissing Harry, in learning all his pulse points that make him whine a little in his throat when he presses his lips against them. They’d gone shopping together this morning, two days after Louis woke up in the Styles household still wrapped around him in bed. Harry had gone to visit some family and Louis bummed around Gemma’s place, drafting plans for his big British Christmas soiree. When Harry arrived this morning, they could hardly get out the door to shop. They’d tangled with each other on the couch, swapping kisses and whispers until they had no choice but to get up and get some errands done.

“You’re just jealous, Niall. Did you invite Callie to the party tonight? She studied abroad once, I bet she’d love something like this. Maybe you can lay some groundwork,” Harry says, smirking at Niall. Louis can see the love bite he left on Harry’s neck, blood rising to the surface. It pleases him, like he’s just marked his territory. Louis spots a few branches out of place on the Christmas tree he’d dragged into Gemma’s living room and goes to fix them. He’d gone out yesterday and found a tree on sale, a puny little thing left over in one of the tree lots he’d passed while driving around. It stands, a bit droopy, in the living room, but gives off enough festive cheer.

“Callie’s gonna see the light, one of these days. I sent her a message on Facebook, told her to bring some friends. What do you need from us next, Louis? Or would you rather me leave you and Harry alone to get it on?” Niall asks, picking up a Christmas cracker that Harry had found in some obscure international shop in West Hollywood this morning. 

“Put it down. You can’t pull those yet, just drop it. Harry, I need you to start on the Christmas pudding since you’re the baking whiz around here. Niall, you can decorate. Hang a few stockings, maybe make sure that fireplace is in working order. I also need you to take all this,” Louis says, moving to the island and grabbing stacks of colorful construction paper, “and make crowns for all the guests.”

“Crowns, really?” Niall asks, taking the paper. Harry tosses Niall a pair of scissors and they all get to work. The morning passes quickly, a flurry of activity keeping Louis occupied from just how good Harry looks today. Louis has never tried to pull off a full Christmas dinner on his own before. His mum and the two older sisters usually keep him out of the kitchen, insisting he’ll ruin it all if he tries to help. He’s been Googling how to roast a turkey perfectly for the last two days and thinks he’s cracked it. He’s got brussel sprouts that need cooked, and wassail cider to be made. 

“Do I have enough pecans in here, Lou?” Harry calls, his forehead a bit sweaty. Louis has just popped a few parsnips on the tray with the sprouts to cook, and he peers down at Harry’s progress on the pudding.

“That looks right. Mum always makes it this way. It’s not traditional fully, but it tastes really bloody good. Solid job,” Louis says, tapping Harry on the arse. Niall just shakes his head from where he sits at the table, ten crowns made and a few more to go. 

“Fuck. The pies,” Louis mutters, rummaging in all the grocery bags and then the fridge for the ingredients he’s hunting.

“I love pie. What are we talking? Pumpkin, apple?” Niall asks, looking up from his crown assembling. Louis shakes his head, pulling out the fixings for mincemeat.

“Savory pies, Niall. Mince pies for dessert, everyone’s gonna get their own. If you hate it, I won’t be offended. My entire country will, but not me,” Louis says, throwing himself into the task. As the hours tick on before the party gets into full swing, Louis pauses to really take in Gemma’s place now that it’s all done-up. Her dining area has been prepped with all the food. When he inhales, it’s almost like he’s right back home. He feels a tiny pang in his chest, a wave of nostalgia for the house in Donny overtaking him. 

“Alright, there?” Harry murmurs in his ear as they survey the place before guests arrive. Niall’s putting the finishing touches on the tree and has lit the fireplace. It crackles happily, little flames warming the room. Louis tilts his head back and leans against Harry’s chest.

“Never better. I really do appreciate you two putting this together for me. Won’t be the same without my family but it’s pretty damn close,” Louis says. Harry slides his arms around Louis’ waist and squeezes him tight. When the doorbell finally rings with the first of the guests, Louis feels proper happy. 

“Let’s get some wine going, sweetcheeks,” Harry says as he makes his way over to uncork a new bottle of white. 

“Sweetcheeks? That’s new. Niall, your boy called me sweetcheeks. Means he likes my arse,” Louis yells out before doing a wiggle at Niall. Niall just gives him the finger before opening the front door. All the guests get crowns placed on their heads, and Louis gets pleasantly buzzed. It’s hard for him, keeping track of all the new names and faces. At Niall’s last party, he’d hardly met anyone new — he had been so glued to Harry’s side the entire night. Now, though, he’s essentially the party host and feels like he’s got to mingle. Harry keeps his eye on him as Louis moves through the crowd. He meets a trio of guys who regularly play squash with Niall, and a few girls who Harry met at some organic co-op. The infamous Callie shows up, and Louis can’t hold back his laughter when he sees the way Niall’s demeanor changes. 

“A crown for you, m’lady,” Niall says as she walks in with a group of girls behind her. He actually bows to her, holding the paper crown out in front of him. She takes it, hesitantly, not before shooting him a weird look. Niall trails after her, talking about something to do with celestial moons. Everyone gathers to sit down at Gemma’s gorgeous dining table, but not before Louis whispers to Harry, “What the hell is Niall on about the moons?” Harry smiles at him as he takes a seat, pulling out Louis’ chair like a true gentleman.

“Callie is very into astrology, and she’s also got a thing for novels about royalty. I think Niall’s trying to impress her by running down the list of her hobbies. Next up should be him trying to croon a bit of Elvis. She likes Elvis,” Harry says. Louis grins at him and adjusts his orange, lopsided crown. It droops down on his head a bit. Niall made them weird sizes. Louis raises a wine glass and clears his throat, gazing around at all the people gathered around the dining table.

“I just want to properly thank Harry and Niall, here, for letting me cook all this food and sharing it with you lot. Um, tuck in. After dinner, there’s pudding and mince pies, and we all have to pull Christmas crackers. It’s the law. Happy Christmas to all,” Louis says, clinking his glass against Harry’s. As everyone digs into their meals, with Niall exclaiming how surprised he is that he actually likes parsnips, Harry leans in close to him. 

“You can properly thank me for this later, if you catch my drift,” Harry says, his voice deep and stirring fire low in Louis’ stomach. He wants to rip Harry away from the party right now and get him up to bed, wants to fall into the sheets together and study every inch of his skin. It’s all he’s thought about since they’d kissed the first time. If he’s being honest, it’s all he’s thought about late at night ever since he’d first met Harry. To hell with defining the relationship or putting a title on whatever new thing they have going on. Louis hasn’t had sex with anyone new in years, and the prospect excites him. He almost chokes on his turkey and Harry whacks him on the back.

“Yes, great idea. Fully for it. I owe you, don’t I?” Louis says, taking a long sip of his wine to clear his throat. Harry chuckles and lightly scratches the back of Louis’ neck. Dinner passes by in a blur of conversation, but Louis finds it hard to concentrate. When the dinner plates are cleared and the desserts are passed around, Louis spears his fork into the Christmas pudding with gusto. With the first bite, his eyes close and he forgets for a second that he really wants to have sex with Harry. The taste of the pudding is almost better than that, the bake near perfect.

“This is, in one word, Harold, orgasmic,” Louis says, opening his eyes and glancing over at Harry. Harry’s got his arms crossed and is leaning back in his chair, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Orgasmic, huh? No worries, Louis, there’s more where that came from,” Harry responds with a wink. A girl across the table from them yelps as she takes another bite of the pudding.

“What the fuck, there’s something in here. Who made this and is trying to murder me?” she asks, pulling out what looks to be a fifty pence coin to Louis’ eyes.

“Where did you nick that from?” Louis asks Harry, glaring at him while trying to reassure the girl that she won’t die by biting down on a little coin.

“You really shouldn’t leave your wallet sitting around. I looked it up, you never told me you’re supposed to bake a prize into the thing. Thought you wanted to go full traditional,” Harry says, grabbing a mince pie and stuffing it in his mouth before Louis has a chance to ask him any more questions. 

With dessert winding down and more wine glasses emptying, it isn’t too surprising when a bit of piano music drifts into the space. Niall’s disappeared, and Louis can only assume it’s him playing. The first bars of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” swell and wrap everyone up in the warmth. 

“Told you,” Harry says as people get out of their seats and start drunkenly swaying together in the living room, crowns bobbing every which way. “Elvis.” Louis and Harry meander into the piano room and peek their heads in. Niall’s singing softly to himself, with Callie seated next to him on the piano bench.

“He shoots, he scores,” Louis whispers. 

“I’m continuing my sexual innuendo and telling you that maybe Niall isn’t the only one who will score tonight,” Harry says. Louis tweaks him on the nose. They leave Niall be and go back into the living room. Everyone’s drunk and stuffed full of food.

“We have to pull a cracker. I mean, we got a few here and it’s required. No one else is paying attention so you have to do it with me, Harry. It’s only fair,” Louis says, making his way through the dancing crowd and swiping a cracker off the kitchen island. Harry joins him and they both grab the shiny foil from both ends. When they pull, a loud bang is emitted and half the party looks over at them. 

“It’s a Christmas cracker, folks. Come get one, there’s prizes inside,” Harry shouts, tossing a few at various people. Inside their own foil-wrapped cracker, they discover a miniature ping-pong set.

“Amazing. This will keep us entertained for at least 15 minutes,” Louis says, plucking one of the tiny paddles up with his fingers. They play a few rounds against each other, with other bangs going off intermittently as the night goes on. Niall switches from playing Elvis to some more up-tempo stuff, and everyone ends up in a sing-along by the end of the night. Ubers are called, guests stumble out the door with crowns in their hands, and Niall gives Louis and Harry both a wink as he softly leads Callie out of the party.

“Successful Christmas. I’d say this is one of the best,” Harry says, shutting the door behind everyone who’s left and sinking the house into a blissful silence. The fire is still roaring in the fireplace, and there are plates to be cleared and washed up, but Louis can’t find it in himself to care. Harry removes his shirt before they reach the first step of the spiral staircase.

“We have to mess around in the guest room, okay? I can’t bring myself to defile Gemma’s bed,” Harry whispers as Louis races behind him up the stairs, both of them dropping clothing as they go. With greedy hands and giggles escaping both their mouths, they sweep into the guest room and fall into bed. Louis has never seen Harry’s smile so bright.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

 

The light from outside the guest room is much too bright for this kind of morning. Louis has a throbbing headache and a dry mouth. He’s nestled next to Harry, whose wheezing breaths turned into loud snores in the middle of the night. He’s exhausted because they didn’t get much sleeping done, truly. When they tumbled into bed and pulled each other close, Louis had felt so uninhibited. He had not a care in the world. All that mattered was that Harry was here, pressing his groin flush with Louis’ until he could feel how hard he was, how ready he felt for whatever came next.

They’d shucked off their clothes with only mildly trembling hands. The moonlight was all they could see by while they plunged forward, heading into some foreign unknown space.

“You’re amazing. Such a good person,” Harry had breathed drunkenly as Louis pressed slow kisses down his abdomen. He hadn’t done this in so long, had only Edwin and a few others to compare the experience to. When he’d pulled Harry’s briefs down to his ankles and sucked him off, it only felt a bit strange. He only felt a small twinge of apprehension at doing  _ this _ , this intimate thing, with someone he’d only known a few days.

“Don’t start complimenting me yet, love. I’ve barely begun,” Louis had whispered, taking his time with every lick. He felt a rush of power at hearing Harry moan, got turned on more as he watched him writhe beneath him while he tried to make him lose control. 

“Love,” Harry said, smiling. “Don’t go falling in love with me.” Louis took Harry’s dick further into his mouth, rendering him speechless for the next few minutes. When Harry came, Louis swallowed him down and wiped the back of his mouth.

“Not in love, darling. Promise,” Louis said, telling himself he believed what he was saying. When Harry pulled him down for a searing kiss, Louis let himself be rolled on his back. With Harry finally settled between his thighs, teasing him with kisses on his upper thighs, he thought about all his feelings. He thought about Harry and how they always seemed to be drawn to one another. How they always ended up drinking together and then flirting, then acting on their feelings, then getting braver and pushing the boundary of their strange friendship. Before Harry tugged down Louis’ briefs to return the favor, Louis stopped him.

“Wait,” Louis croaked. He couldn’t believe he was doing it, but he was. Harry had looked up at him with such a soft look on his face, his eyes a little glassy from coming down from the orgasm that had rocked him only moments before. 

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” Harry had asked him. Louis reached out and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, letting his finger tips tangle in his curls.

“Not at all. Just, can I talk to you for a quick second?” Louis asked. Harry crawled up from where he was hovering and Louis could hardly take the feeling of all the blood rushing to his dick, but he needed to do this. He needed to just get something clear for the moment.

“What’s on your mind then? Let me just tell you,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek, “I might be a bit drunk but that blowjob you just gave me was stellar.”

“See, that’s my issue. Should we not be doing this? You’re drunk, I’m definitely still tipsy. We’ve known each other for all of a few days and already I’ve sucked you off like it’s nothing. Are we just enabling each other here?” Louis asked, his head swimming a little. Panic was racing through his veins, overpowering the wine. Harry’s naked chest rose and fell, his breaths going in and out deeply while he laid next to Louis.

“If you want us to stop, we can stop. It’s not fair for me to have all the fun tonight, though,” Harry had said, pressing his face into the crook of Louis’ shoulder. Louis bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling.

“No shagging tonight,” he had said, suddenly deciding for both of them. “I just… if we go there, if we ever get there, I want us to be sober. Maybe this makes me sound like some kind of prude but it’s how I feel.” Louis waited for Harry’s response, his breaths tickling Louis’ shoulder. His head popped up and he stared into Louis’ eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Think it’s a good idea, Louis. Does this give me permission, then, to get you off in any other ways possible?” Harry had asked, already reaching one hand down between Louis’ legs and giving his stiffening dick a tug. Louis had pressed his head back into the pillow, letting the rush overtake him.

“Yes, please,” he whispered. Harry had gotten him off, had wasted no time with talking anymore about it. Louis felt his wanting with every move he made, with every long kiss and flick of his hands. Every shuddered breath he pulled out of Louis felt like a true miracle. Louis never thought he’d feel like this again. His heart was beating so quickly and he felt so full of total affection for Harry, this long-haired wonder giving him all of his attention. They fell asleep tangled up in each other, sweaty and sated and drunkenly happy.

Louis rubs at his bleary eyes now with no real idea what time it could be. He glances over at a sleeping Harry and notices him smiling in his sleep. Louis snaps his fingers in front of his face and Harry doesn’t even budge.

“Must be a nice dream you’re having,” Louis whispers. In an ideal world, he and Harry could wake up like this always. When he says the word ‘love’ to Harry, maybe it’s not just because it’s some common expression in his daily vocabulary. Maybe it’s more. Maybe it’s because Harry came into his life so unexpectedly. Maybe it’s because he managed to help him avoid the saddest holiday he could’ve ever had. Maybe it’s because Harry glitters brighter than a thousand snowflakes on a sunny day. Maybe it’s all these things. Maybe Louis is in love, already. Louis sneaks out of bed and heads to the main bedroom. He pulls on joggers and a spare shirt before leaving Harry to sleep it off a bit longer.

Downstairs, he feeds Tibbles and starts cleaning up the party. He chucks leftover food into the fridge and begins putting all the wine bottles into the bin. By the time Harry ambles downstairs, no shirt and his skinny jeans back on from last night, Louis is nearly through with tidying the kitchen area.

“You could’ve waited for me. Didn’t need to do this all alone,” Harry says, rushing over to help Louis load up the dishwasher with wine glasses and plates. Louis takes a dish out of Harry’s hand and sets it down.

“Couldn’t sleep any longer. Just wanted to get a jump on cleaning,” he says, loading the last few dishes into the washer. He turns around then and traces his fingers down Harry’s chest. He watches Harry swallow as he trails his finger lower and lower.

“So last night was...” Harry begins.

“Last night was amazing. Sorry for the weird speech I gave you. I don’t even remember all of what I said,” Louis says. He remembers it all though. Of course.

“It was amazing, you were amazing, us together was amazing. I don’t mind waiting a bit, to get farther. I’m honestly just really loving spending time with you, Louis,” Harry says, pulling Louis close to him and wrapping him up in a hug. Louis holds him tight, trying to squeeze the air from his own lungs so he doesn’t accidentally tell Harry he loves him. He’d head for the Hollywood Hills then, would bolt straight from this house and never look back at Louis ever again.

“Fancy a swim? I’ve only been in the pool a few times since I got here,” Louis says, cocking his head in the direction of the shimmering pool outside. 

“Don’t have my trunks,” Harry says with a grin, already pulling his jeans back down around his ankles again.

“Love, you won’t need them,” Louis says, kicking off his own joggers and pulling off his shirt. Gemma’s backyard is built for maximum privacy. The early morning sun warms his skin as he and Harry strip down to nothing. He’s never skinny dipped before, especially not at the end of December. Harry struts around the side of the pool a bit, showing off a few choice modeling poses for Louis before diving in the deep end. Louis cannonballs in after him, swimming to Harry and pressing him against the side of the pool. His skin is slippery underneath Louis’ palms and they kiss, laughing every so often to stop and dunk each other. Harry pinches his arse as he swims after him and Louis loves this, wants to transport this pool back to London so he can keep this moment forever. They press together, entwined in the water, stealing each other's breath with kisses that make Louis dizzy in the head.

“Are you fucking serious?” an angry female voice calls out. Louis only parts from Harry for a blink, long enough to see a flash of Tibbles scurrying across the patio and a distinct auburn bob of hair attached to a tall, well-dressed woman. He sinks underwater, panicked, while Harry gets farther away from him. He can hear shouting from under the water, all of it muffled. When he can’t hold his breath any longer, he surfaces warily and covers his junk in case it can be easily seen in the pool.

“Well what the hell are you doing home already? Mom said you’d be gone until New Year’s,” Harry is shouting, bobbing in the water. The girl, who Louis has now realized quite plainly as Gemma, is shouting back at him. He spots luggage in the living room that’s been dropped on its side. Gemma’s beautiful and angular, and he’s never seen anyone look so angry.

“Are you hooking up with my home-swap partner? Like, Louis, hi nice to meet you, but are you serious? You somehow managed to meet my brother and then bam, you’re screwing? Get out of the pool. Both of you,” she shouts, turning in a huff and marching back into the house. Harry and Louis’ clothes are tossed onto the patio and Harry looks at Louis apologetically before getting out of the water.

“Guess she’s home early,” he says, pulling himself onto the patio. Louis can’t help but stare at his back muscles and the flex of his perfectly shaped butt, but he shakes himself out of it. Gemma’s in there, waiting for them to explain themselves. Louis hops out of the pool and tugs his clothes on quickly. All his flirty feelings are gone, replaced with an unease that he shouldn’t be here. He follows Harry into the house where Gemma is sitting on the couch with Tibbles in her lap.

“Gems, I can explain,” Harry says, wringing his hands. Louis isn’t sure what to do, isn’t sure if he needs to stand in front of Gemma and talk, too. 

“Harry, go upstairs. Me and Louis need to have a chat, I think,” Gemma says, waving Harry off before he gets a chance to sputter out any more excuses. 

“Gemma, I don’t think you need to—” Harry tries. She cuts him off, leveling him with a look that Louis can’t begin to read. Harry grimaces and then pats Louis on the shoulder as he passes him, disappearing up the stairs and out of sight.


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

 

Gemma remains perched on the couch, an angry energy radiating from her body. Louis decides to stay standing, thinks maybe it’s some kind of position of power. He notices that he’s dripping water onto the floorboards. He opens his mouth to speak but Gemma beats him to it.

“How long did it take for my brother to sweep you off your feet?” she asks. Tibbles remains in her lap, his tail lazily flopping back and forth. Louis decides not to answer that question.

“Gemma, I’m really sorry, but I thought you wouldn’t be home for another two days. I would’ve cleaned your place up and left everything exactly as you kept it,” Louis says, gesturing to the remnants of the party the night before and a few spare shirts he’d thrown in front of the fireplace.

“Louis, this is really not about me coming home early. My agent told me one thing, your agent told you another. It was a mistake,” Gemma says. Louis lets out a huff of air and rocks back on his heels.

“Harry and I, we just… kind of happened,” he says. Gemma shoots him a look like he’s a total idiot.

“Of course you did. I was just curious how long it took for him to wrap you around his finger. He really doesn’t do relationships, hasn’t since Owen really. I take it he told you about his ex?” Gemma asks.

“He didn’t mention his name but he told me a little about him. Gemma, I’m not looking to hurt Harry. He’s actually one of the best things to happen to me on vacation. Honestly,” Louis says. He looks over at the stairs and wonders if Harry can hear them talking. Gemma shifts on the couch and motions for Louis to take a seat next to her. He sits on the familiar cushions, and Tibbles gives a little hiss at him. 

“Please, for the love of all things holy, tell me you aren’t actually falling for my brother,” Gemma says. Louis sits up a little straighter and looks her square in the eyes.

“Would it be so wrong if I was? I’m getting over a break-up myself. I didn’t think Harry would be something, someone I wanted...but I do. Your brother is quite amazing,” Louis says with a small smile. Gemma sighs and pets Tibbles, running her hands through his fur.

“Amazingly charming. Amazingly good at putting on an act, maybe. Did he tell you the real reason why he and Owen broke up?” Gemma asks. Faint alarm bells ring in Louis’ head, but he tries to quiet them. Gemma is sitting in front of him, looking like she knows some kind of juicy secret.

“He said he didn’t support his baking dream and was an all-around arsehole. I’d say that’s a fine enough reason,” Louis says back carefully, his tone short and clipped. 

“So he didn’t tell you that he and Owen were engaged? And that Owen had agreed to pay Harry’s way through his MBA program and bailed on it at the last minute because Harry had met someone else while he was still with Owen?” Gemma says, her voice quivering a little. 

“He never told me he’d been engaged. He also never told me there was someone else,” Louis says, feeling a little sick. He can’t imagine Harry, the Harry he’s hopelessly fallen in love with, to be any kind of cheater. He can’t imagine him consciously ruining a relationship so strong they’d been engaged. 

“The guy he met, Mark, they were never serious. But still, Owen was furious and demanded his money back. Harry worked his ass off at The Holiday Hut to try and cover the rest of his studies. My parents had to step in and help him. I did, too,” Gemma says, ducking her head a little. Louis feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. Harry seemed so perfect, so shiny, so wonderful. Was Gemma telling him everything she knew, truthfully? Was this picture she was painting exactly who Harry really was?

“So tell me, Gemma. Harry cheated, then? Is that what happened?” he asks. He doesn’t want her to answer. He wants to rewind time all the way back to right before he’d called the travel agent and found out about this home swap program. He’d talk his past self out of it, convince himself that a normal Christmas in Donny was all he needed. He would never have come here, never would’ve met Harry, never would’ve let himself fall so deeply without checking that there was soft ground below. Gemma pats him on the knee and Louis could crumble. He doesn’t though, just breathes through it.

“Mark was in one of his business classes. Him and Owen, they’d been fighting a lot. He’d shrug it off when I’d bring it up to him. Owen found out about Mark, found out about them spending time together. The engagement was called off and I haven’t seen him since two years ago,” Gemma says. Louis glances around the room, at all the pretty things Gemma’s filled her home with. He hasn’t left too much sitting around of his own personal belongings. If he wanted, he could flee right now.

“Why are you telling me this?” Louis asks. 

“Felt like I had to. Harry’s easy to fall for. I’ve watched it happen a million times. Just thought you should know before you got in too deep with him. Being on holiday, it’s easy to forget yourself,” Gemma says. Louis remembers himself, then. He remembers how devastated he was when Edwin left, when Edwin told him about some other guy he’d been seeing for the last weeks of their relationship. Louis remembered dry-heaving into the toilet the night after he found out, remembered feeling like his life could not possibly go on. 

He wonders how Owen feels now. Has he felt free, no longer being with Harry? Did he find a way to move on, to forget his past and just get over it? 

“I think I need to go now,” Louis says, rising from his seat on the couch. He hurries over to the fireplace and scoops up some of his clothes. 

“I didn’t tell you this to drive you away. I love my brother and think he’s one of the best people,” Gemma says, tossing Tibbles onto another couch cushion. “But people make mistakes. I just wanted to be honest and level with you. If I’d come home and found you in the pool with anyone but Harry, our conversation would be very different right now.”

“Couldn’t stay away from him. I was so broken down when I came here. I just need to go home, I think. Will figure out flight details and whatever,” Louis says, scrambling to pick up his own personal things scattered throughout the ground floor. He moves through the house quietly, grabbing things as he goes. Before he nears the spiral staircase, he hesitates. Harry’s up there, somewhere. He takes the stairs two at a time, pleased to not see Harry anywhere in sight. He hadn’t been eavesdropping or sitting right at the base of the stairs to listen. Louis decidedly doesn’t look at the guest room. The sheets are still rumpled from this morning. When he kicks Gemma’s door open, Harry’s leaning out one of Gemma’s bedroom windows. He exhales some smoke and turns to Louis with a grin.

“There you are. Gemma hates when I smoke in the house,” he says, dropping his cigarette and coming towards Louis. “Hope she went easy on you. I imagine I’ll have to go downstairs and grovel at her feet for  awhile. Suppose we could’ve just stayed at my apartment but it’s much more fun here,” Harry says, reaching for Louis’ hips. Louis backs away and almost drops all his things, his hands are shaking so much. 

“Oh god, what did she tell you?” Harry asks. Louis doesn’t answer, just tugs his suitcase out from under the bed and starts stuffing it full of clothes. He doesn’t care about folding everything neatly. He just wants to focus on getting things inside it as quickly as possible.

“Found out a few things, Harry. Firstly, you were engaged. Secondly, and most enraging, you cheated,” Louis says, feeling the threat of tears behind his eyes. Things go blurry as he packs. He can feel Harry get off the bed and come up behind him, hates the feeling of his arms wrapping around his waist as he packs.

“Whatever she told you, it wasn’t the whole story. I’m not the bad guy she made me out to be,” Harry says. Louis shakes him off and whips around to grab his phone charger.

“Save it. I should’ve known better, you know. Everything with you, it was too easy. You were too likable. I can’t believe I ever let myself believe I was falling in love with you,” Louis says angrily. He throws a few spare shoes in his suitcase and marches into the bathroom to get his toothbrush. His face is tear-stained in the mirror. He hates himself. He hates Harry. He hates Christmas.

“I told you not to fall in love with me, Louis,” Harry groans from the bedroom. He ducks his head in and watches Louis with a pained expression. “If you’ll just let me explain, it won’t seem so awful. I thought we were having fun, you and me. Weren’t we?” 

“Loads of fun. We were just having a laugh, really,” Louis says, babbling as he shoves the final items into his suitcase. 

“I do like you Louis, so much. And yeah, maybe my last relationship was more serious than I let on but what Gemma told you shouldn’t matter. We weren’t boyfriends, right? You were only here for a few more days. How could we just get to some next level with you in England and me here?” Harry asks. Louis feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. He drags his suitcase out of the bedroom and starts heaving it down the stairs. Harry follows right on his heels.

“That came out wrong. Okay, Louis? It did. We just never talked about what we were thinking, you know? I thought we were just staying casual. And this Owen thing, there’s more to the story,” Harry says, his voice coming out in spurts as he runs after Louis. Gemma appears in the foyer looking panicked, and Louis gives her a little wave.

“You have a gorgeous place, Gemma. Thanks for letting me stay here. Tibbles and I got along famously,” Louis mutters before swinging the front door open. The sun blasts him in the eyes and he breathes in the smell of Los Angeles one more time. He’ll miss the weather, certainly. But what he won’t miss is being lied to. Harry follows him out the door as he wheels his suitcase to the driveway. He pulls up the Uber app on his phone, praying they’ll be quick in picking him up.

“Louis, please just turn around and look at me,” Harry says. Louis looks. He can’t help it. There’s still something in Harry’s voice that his body wants to respond to. The sunshine hits Harry’s face and casts him half in shadow. 

“There’s nothing more to say, Harry. You obviously never saw us going anywhere. You cheated on someone, which to me, is one of the most awful things you can do to someone else. I can’t be with someone like that. I can’t even have fun with someone like that. Should’ve never let myself feel what I did for you, alright?” Louis says, suddenly exhausted. 

“Owen wasn’t right for me. Mark actually indulged my crazy dreams. It’s not like I intended to hurt Owen, but he was never supportive. My sister has drilled this into me since I was a kid - pick someone supportive,” Harry says. Louis wants to believe the words coming out of his pretty mouth, but he can’t. When the Uber pulls up, Louis loads his suitcase into the trunk and lowers himself into the car without another look at Harry. He’s crying too much to see his face as they pull away. All he can do now is close his eyes and try to forget the last week. 

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**16**

 

The cooling cup of tea in his hand is doing Louis no good right now. He sips it and grimaces at the taste. His very expensive, very last-minute flight back to London won’t board for another few hours, and he needs to pass the time any way he can. In the Uber on the way to the airport, he sat silent. The familiar landmarks passed him outside the window, Los Angeles almost starting to feel a little like home, but he had no nostalgia or regret for leaving. Just a total weariness in his body that made simply sitting difficult.

Louis calls Liam for the second time, praying he picks up. He’s got a few texts from Harry that have gone unanswered. He hasn’t even read them, wants nothing to do with more empty words. Liam’s warm voice greets him on the other end of the line.

“Mate, haven’t heard from you in a bit. Enjoying your last few days of vacation?” Liam asks, cheerful as ever. Louis squeezes the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache coming on.

“Li, I’m actually at the airport. Coming home. I just needed out. Gemma came home early, and it was a whole thing with Harry, and I just… could you maybe pick me up tomorrow when I land?” Louis asks. Joyful reunions are happening all around him, couples kissing and embracing. Louis wants to yell at them all. He’s back where he started, really. Hating love, hating holidays, hating anything happy. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened, or should we wait until you’re home?” Liam says. 

“I want to wait. I don’t want to do a rehash just yet. Listen, I don’t want mum knowing I’m coming home early. Let’s keep it between us, yeah?” Louis asks. Liam agrees. He’s too good a friend for him, Louis knows it. He doesn’t deserve all the kindness Liam sends his way. 

“Of course. Me and Zayn will get you. Just let me know when you’ll be in. Day before New Year’s shouldn’t be too bad for driving, hopefully. Should warn you, the weather here has been nothing like California,” Liam says. Louis takes another sip of his tea before deciding to toss it in the nearest bin. 

“I welcome it. Give me freezing temperatures and gross snow and wind that hurts your face. That’s how I feel on the inside. Again,” Louis says glumly. He goes over all his flight details with Liam before hanging up, knowing he’s making some kind of right decision. Going home doesn’t really feel like defeat to him, not currently. He was foolish getting involved with Harry in the first place. No one falls in love in five days. No one normal, anyway. A call from Harry comes in on his phone and he presses ignore, punching the screen with his finger.

“No. Definitely not, Harold,” Louis mutters. He spends the rest of his time at the airport roaming LAX, drifting into gift shops and staring at magazines. He goes to buy a granola bar but is outraged to see it’s organic. It reminds him too much of Harry and his dreams of starting that organic bakeshop with Mark and Owen and some other unnamed man probably. He swaps it for a candy bar instead, munching while he waits for his flight to finally be called. Boarding the plane this time is a less exciting experience than before. He couldn’t shell out money for first class again, so he’s shuffled back to coach. He squeezes in between a woman loudly scolding her child and a man eating a sandwich. He slumps in his seat and stuffs his backpack beneath his seat. When the plane rumbles to life and takes off for across the country and the ocean in between, Louis tries to just close his eyes.

He doesn’t want to see the flash of Harry’s smile behind his eyes, but he does anyway. He sees the tangles of his hair swaying in the darkness, Harry crawling towards Louis on the bed they shared. Louis squeezes his eyes shut harder and only sees Harry more clearly. The look on his face when he spotted Louis at The Grove, puffing on his cigarette. The green in his eyes as he drove Louis home in his Jeep. Louis wills himself not to cry. There will be time for that when he gets home, when he slinks back into his empty flat and finally takes stock in just how alone he is. The flight is long and dull. They play another holiday movie, and Louis doesn’t pay a lick of attention. All he can do with his time is replay his holiday and how disastrous it ended up. When the plane lands at Heathrow, Louis is grumpy and exhausted as he follows the other passengers off the plane.

Liam is waiting for him down the escalator with Zayn at his side. They’re both looking at him hopefully with their arms wrapped around each other. Liam’s got a sign in his hands for Louis that reads “Tommo,” and that akes Louis smile. 

“About time we met,” Zayn says, pulling Louis in for a rough hug. Liam encloses both of them in his arms and Louis feels his heart lift. He’s home and alone, yes. But he’s got these two with him—that has to count for something. When he wiggles out of Liam and Zayn’s grasps, he heaves his backpack up on his shoulder and cocks his head towards baggage.

“I went to Los Angeles, lads, with too much baggage. I’m talking physically and metaphorically,” Louis says, walking confidently towards the baggage claim while Liam and Zayn follow him. “I met this great guy, Harry, and I basically fell in love with him,” he continues, sidestepping around a few children running through the airport. “Turns out, he wasn’t as into me perhaps as I was into him. He also cheated on his last partner and basically it’s a big fucking mess.” Louis stops at his claim and keeps his eyes peeled for his suitcase. Liam droops his chin onto Louis’ shoulder.

“Fuck him, then. You’re here now. Let’s make the best of it. Me, you and Zayn are getting dinner at Killer Tomato. We’re going to celebrate the end of this year with the best tacos you’ve ever had. Then tomorrow, we’re going to your mum’s New Year’s party and getting spectacularly pissed. 2017 will look alright by the morning, okay?” Liam grumbles into his ear. Louis just nods, ducking away from Liam to finally snag his suitcase. He follows the boys out to Liam’s waiting car. Zayn opens the door for him, and Louis does a little curtsy.

“Such a gentleman, Zayn. Liam, think you’ve got a good bloke here,” Louis says, sliding into the backseat. It’s snowing already, just a light dusting for now. It’s so different than California, so much colder and unforgiving. He can’t believe he was somewhere else less than 24 hours ago. Liam pulls them away from the curb and drives them into town. 

“Lou, you okay back there?” Liam asks. They’ve been driving for 25 minutes and Louis hasn’t said a word. He’s been too lost in thought, watching the familiar buildings pass by. His hometown, all the places he knows by heart, are all still lit up for Christmas. It’s almost nice seeing everything all decorated. 

“Alright, Liam. Not dead. Just a little heartbroken,” Louis calls to the front seat. They reach Killer Tomato after a bit more driving. Zayn holds the door for Liam and Louis as they enter the restaurant. The smell of cooked meat and spices reaches Louis’ nose and his stomach grumbles. He’s hardly eaten since yesterday when he left America. They grab an empty table near the back and order a few of nearly everything on the menu. Louis is just about to take a bite of his pork belly burrito when he hears a familiar voice.

“Aw, come on baby, just do the tequila shot. One won’t kill you,” Edwin’s voice sounds from somewhere behind him. Liam is staring past him with apprehension. Zayn’s too busy scarfing down his sticky chicken tacos to notice just how quickly Louis has lost his appetite. 

“I’m going to punch him out. Right now, Lou, just say the word,” Liam mutters darkly, his eyes trained on Edwin somewhere behind Louis. Louis stops him and gets up from the table, taking a bite of his burrito before dropping it onto the plate.

“Stay here, keep eating. I need to handle this one,” Louis says, turning around and heading towards Edwin. He’s dressed in a truly ridiculous silver shirt and jeans a size too small for him. Edwin looks drunk, and whoever he’s with is following his lead. Louis watches with disgust as Edwin shoves a tequila shot in front of his new friend, and they both tilt them back before sloppily kissing on the lips. Louis scoots closer to them and leans on the bar in between them, locking eyes with Edwin.

“So this is the new boyfriend, then? He’s a little more jacked than your usual type, isn’t he?” Louis asks with a smile. Edwin’s boy toy starts to protest, and Edwin just smirks at him, teeth gleaming like a shark.

“I heard you jetted out of town. I want that Majorca money back. It’s only fair. We went halfsies on it,” Edwin says, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Louis laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no. You won’t be getting that money back ever. I just wanted to say to you, one final time, that you disgust me,” Louis says, turning to glance at Edwin’s boyfriend. “Good luck with this one, mate. He’ll suck out all the good in you and leave you lonely when he’s tired of you and move on to someone else.”

“You’re so dramatic, Louis. You always were. Can you really blame me for sniffing out other guys around? You took us so seriously. It was suffocating,” Edwin says. Louis hasn’t heard him be this honest in ages. Alcohol always had a way of loosening his tongue. Louis spots Zayn rise from the table. He’s weaving through the crowded restaurant towards Louis like he wants to help him through this. Liam should’ve kept him where he was.

“Have a nice life, Edwin. You’re the biggest pain in my arse and you’ll get what’s coming to you, one of these days,” Louis says, picking up a drink and tossing it in Edwin’s face. Edwin howls in outrage and Louis just ducks back into the crowd, picking his way back to the table and pulling Zayn along with him.

“You just threw a drink in his face? Badass,” Zayn mumbles. Louis grins, pretending like the words Edwin said didn’t hurt him one bit. Suffocating. Taking things too seriously. Is that why Harry just let him leave? Is that why they’d never talked more about their future? Louis sits back down and picks his burrito up again.

“Well done. A thrown drink definitely has a lot more drama than a punch to the face. I hope Edwin won’t be able to dryclean that horrible shirt,” Liam says, grinning. Louis starts eating his burrito again, pleased with getting the last word on Edwin. He can fuck off forever, for all he cares. 

When they finish up dinner, they hightail it out of Killer Tomato without any more run-ins with any more exes. Louis looks down at the sidewalk while Liam and Zayn kiss before getting in the car. They’re easy around each other. It’s like they’ve known each other for years. They tease and joke and look like the real thing, like they’re both in love and on the same level. Louis wants that. He wanted that with Harry. But Harry’s far away now, and Louis has too many missed calls from him, too many texts he hasn’t read yet. He needs to put it all behind him, let the new year mark some kind of way to start over. Maybe he’ll rub his slate clean, like he told Harry on Christmas Eve. Leave his job, pursue something he really loves. 

They start the long drive home, and the gentle roar of Liam’s motor pushes Louis into a restless sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

 

“Everyone’s going to lose their minds,” Louis says from the backseat of Liam’s car. Zayn turns around in the passenger seat and grins back at Louis, giving him a fistbump. Snow is falling all around them as they head towards Doncaster. It’s New Year’s Eve and Louis is still surprised that he’s back in England. His family has no idea he’s home. They’re probably all running around like mad trying to get things ready for the party.

“Have you spoken to Harry yet?” Liam asks as he pulls onto familiar roads from Louis’ childhood. Billingley’s Christmas Farm sprawls across the land to their left. It looks like something out of an illustrated holiday book. The dusting of snow settled on pine trees, the little cozy store that sells cocoa and hot cider, all of it gorgeous. Louis hates to admit it, even now, but he’s glad to be home. 

“He sent a few texts and left a few voicemails. I’ve been ignoring them all. If I just forget he ever existed, it’s easier,” Louis says. Harry’s grown more desperate.  He'd finally stopped trying around dinner time last night, and no more messages had come in. But still, it was unnerving. Liam and Zayn sing along to the radio as they drive the last few miles to the Tomlinson residence. This party is his mum’s pride and joy for the year. She always lets Louis invite whichever friends he wants, and the crowd ends up a mish-mash of people Louis has known for his entire life. 

“You’re sure your family is fine with us crashing, mate?” Zayn asks from the front. He was in the middle of hitting a falsetto note, harmonizing with Liam on some Justin Timberlake single. 

“No worries. Mum would be appalled if Liam didn’t show up. Like, she disinvited me from the whole party, but I think Liam would be disowned by her completely if he skipped out. She’ll love you, Zayn. She always had a thing for a bad boy,” Louis says. Liam whacks him on the thigh while he drives and Louis yelps.

“Eyes on the road,” he screams. Zayn and Liam are still chuckling as they pull up to the house. There are a few cars here already. Everyone’s blocked the drive, so they park on the street. Louis hops out quickly and rubs his hands together against the cold. Ice is covering the roads, and he follows Liam and Zayn as they all approach the front door. 

“Shall we go in first then, Louis? Give your mum a good surprise when you come in a bit after us?” Liam asks. Louis nods, loving that idea. He leans against the garage and grins as he watches Liam ring the doorbell. His mum swings the door open and crushes Liam in a hug. Zayn stands next to him, looking awkward, a pained smile on his face.

“Liam, you brought the new boyfriend. Bless you, he’s a catch. I’m Johannah. You must be Zayn. Come in, let’s get you two out of the cold,” his mum says, ushering both of them inside. The party sounds to be in full-swing, and all the noise is shut immediately as the door closes. Louis decides to stay outside a little while longer. He knows his mum, and he knows his sisters. They’ll be fawning over Liam and Zayn for at least the next 20 minutes. No one would even notice if he slipped inside just yet. Louis wanders around the house, catching glimpses of the party through the windows. There’s food on every table, drinks in every hand. Mum did a bang-up job this year, like always. Louis walks over the snow-covered ground, his shoes making a satisfying crunch with every footstep he takes.

His childhood home hasn’t changed much since he’d left it for good. It’s kind of nice, being able to return to a place that stays so constant. Louis does one more loop around the house for good measure. When he turns back to head towards the front door, he stops in his tracks. His eyes have to be playing tricks, that’s what it is. It’s pure exhaustion from traveling so much in the last two days. Louis rubs at his eyes and blinks slowly, pulse pounding, hardly believing what he’s actually seeing. There on the doorstep, where he had passed only a minute or two ago, stands Harry fucking Styles himself. 

“You?” Louis asks. His voice sounds incredulous, and Harry jumps, startled. They’re the only two people outside, darkness plunging Doncaster into a hazy night before the new year rolls in. 

“Me,” Harry says, and Louis hates the way his voice warms him to the core. Louis cranes his neck and sees no taxi driving away, no car service idling at the curb. He has a thousand questions for Harry, and about a thousand more very choice words he wants to spew his way, but he can only think in very short questions for the moment.

“Are you stalking me?” Louis asks. Harry shifts from foot to foot. Neither of them have made any effort to drift closer to each other. Louis keeps his distance by the garage. Harry stays put at the door.

“Had your address from when you shipped the snow globe,” Harry says with a shrug. Louis stays silent, debating what to ask next. 

“How’d you get here?” he asks, taking one tiny step closer. Harry’s breath is coming out in puffs. He’s wearing absolutely the wrong coat to be out in this weather. His California skin can’t be used to this kind of winter wind. 

“Niall lent me money for a red-eye. I was going insane after you left, you know. Never even gave me the chance to explain,” Harry said.

“I knew enough. It was a mistake, you coming here,” Louis says, moving towards the door. He has plans to shove Harry off the front step so he’d fall into the snow. 

“I called you a thousand times. Gemma didn’t tell you the whole story. I’m not the villain, Louis, okay? I need you to understand,” Harry says. Louis is about to spout off more to Harry, thinks he’ll give him a shove right on his shivering shoulder, but the front door opens before he has a chance. Louis squints at the sudden burst of light. All he can hear for a moment is high-pitched screeching. His mum is nearly crying. All his sisters are crowded behind her, ducking around to peer at Louis and Harry at the door.

“Louis, you said you wouldn’t be home until after New Year’s!” his mum screams. Liam sidles up to the side of the doorway and lifts an eyebrow.

“Louis? Is this Harry?” he asks before taking a bite of some puff pastry. Louis panics, can see the hopeful look on his entire family’s faces.

“ _ Liam _ ,” he hisses. Harry extends his hand out with a grin.

“Harry, hi. I’m Harry,” Harry says, not looking at Louis.

“Fuck off, Harry,” Louis whispers under his breath. Harry smirks at that.

“Holy shit, lad, is this the guy?” Zayn hoots from behind Liam, cackling at Louis and Harry on the front step. 

“Lou, aren’t you going to introduce us to your… your companion?” his mum asks, taking Harry’s hand and shaking it until his entire body is moving. Louis sighs and shoves Harry into the house, following him close behind. 

“Harold, this is my mum and my sisters. I’m sure they all have lots to say to you. I need a drink,” Louis says, stalking off into the party and leaving Harry alone with the entire Tomlinson crew. Liam and Zayn trail him into the kitchen. Louis grabs the largest bottle of wine he can find and ducks out of the kitchen with a corkscrew.

“Can’t believe him. I can’t bloody believe him. Who does this? Who just… hops on a plane and lands in someone else’s New Year’s party like they were fucking invited?” Louis asks, raging. He uncorks the bottle and takes a swig. Liam goes to stop him, but he twists away from his hands.

“So you had no idea then? He just like… showed up out there while you were waiting to come in?” Liam asks, crossing his arms. Louis swallows a little more wine. It’s bitter and burns going down.

“That’s exactly it, Liam. Now he’s here at my mum’s New Year’s party, and I’m here, and basically I’m ready to go back to London now,” Louis says, drinking more. Zayn reaches over easily and plucks the bottle out of Louis’ hands.

“If we’re getting pissed, you better share,” he says, taking a few sips as well. Louis doesn’t even see Harry in the throng of people. His mum is probably already planning their wedding.

“We can get through this night. Do you want to bail? If you want to bail, I can make that happen,” Liam says. Louis would like nothing more. All he’s been doing lately is escaping. His mum and sisters looked so thrilled to see him. They’d be crushed if he left again, just blipped in and out of their lives every time things got hard.

“No, we’re staying. Tell me where you got one of those puff pastries,” Louis says, resigned. “They looked smashing, and I’m suddenly starving.” Liam, Louis and Zayn park themselves near the appetizer table. They stuff their faces to keep from talking. Louis can see Lottie heading toward him. She’s tiny in a crowd but her hair always stands out. This week, it’s dyed lavender. She pulls on Louis’ jumper and marches him to the back of the house, shoving him outside so they’re both standing on the back porch. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you and your lover would be showing up tonight?” she asks. No beating around the bush with Lottie. She’s always been a straight shooter. 

“He’s not my lover, trust me. I fled Los Angeles to get away from that prick, and he showed up here anyway,” Louis says. From inside, he notices Harry emerge from the crowd. He looks to be speaking to Liam and Zayn. 

“Want to tell me what he did to make you come back early?” she asks him. Louis is fighting the urge to go in there and throw Harry out of the house, wants to lock all the doors so he can’t find any other way to get into any part of Louis’ life.

“Not really. Let’s just say, he shares some things in common with Edwin. I fell too fast, he’s got a prickly past, basically it was just a bad row all around,” Louis says. The wind is slicing through the tiny holes in his jumper. He wants to go back inside before he and Lottie turn into icicles out here. Lottie softens at Louis, shaking her head.

“You know, Louis. He did give us a bit of a run-down of your situation. We grilled him for quite a while,” she says. 

“Great, so happy that all my sisters and my mum now know more about the Harry saga than I do. What I really want to know is where the fuck he got a passport so quickly,” Louis says, kicking at a hunk of ice on the deck.

“Oh, he covered that. He’d gone on a cruise with his family two years ago to Italy. He seems really genuine. And he came all this way. Don’t you think maybe you owe it to him to just hear him out?” she asks. Louis stares up at the sky. The winter night is splashed with stars, faraway planes glinting in the distance. Harry had been on one of those for the last 11 hours. He’d convinced Niall to let him cross the country, cross the ocean, and managed to find Louis’ home - not even knowing if he’d be there. Louis had to admit, that took some balls. 

“If I talk to him, none of you can stand around mooning at us. Maybe we’ll talk in my old room or something. I think I need more drinks for this,” Louis says. Lottie steers him back towards the door, opening it to let him in. 

“Maybe less drinking. Just talk. Grab a biscuit, you’ll feel better,” Lottie says, shutting the door behind him. His mum is in a corner of the living room, laughing with a few of her girlfriends. Liam and Zayn are throwing biscuits at each other, crumbs getting all over the floor. Phoebe and Daisy are running around in party dresses, looping around people's legs in the crowd. Fizzy is smirking at him and Lottie from the dining room table where she’s sitting with her friends. And Harry is all alone, looking like he’s about to just bolt. Lottie gives Louis a gentle push and he’s crossing the living room, striding right towards Harry.

“Louis, I’m sorry that I—” Harry begins.

“Don’t. Come on, follow me. We should talk. Grab a biscuit along the way. They’ll make you feel better,” Louis says, leading Harry upstairs to his childhood bedroom.


	18. Chapter 18

**18**

 

Everything in his childhood room is still familiar: the old footie posters hanging on the walls, the worn quilt comforter his nan had made for his fourth birthday, the piles of old sketchbooks at his desk. Everything looks the same, with the exception of Harry sitting on the edge of his bed licking the crumbs of his biscuit off his fingers. He’s been munching for what seems like hours, face looking down at the carpet. He hasn’t looked at Louis yet. Louis remains standing close to his bedroom door, one hand poised on the doorknob in case he needs to make a quick exit — in case he can’t actually handle this.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Harry says. His voice is small, all his bravado lost. 

“Harry, you flew all the way to England for me. You traveled on one of the most hellish days of the year in order to land in my mum’s front yard. I’m feeling so many conflicting emotions right now, but I’m going to stand here and listen. I need you to tell me everything,” Louis says. Harry looks up at him then and takes a deep breath. He pats the vacant bed space next to him and Louis takes a seat, knocking his knee against Harry’s. Maybe he’ll sit and listen instead. Harry takes a deep breath, pausing for a good while before speaking.

“Owen was bad for me. We were bad for each other, really,” Harry begins, twisting his hands together and picking at his fingernails. “We’d been together so long that it seemed inevitable we’d be part of each other’s forevers.” Louis nods, knowing how that feels.

“Me and Edwin were a bit like that, too,” Louis mumbles.

“He’d been working a better job than me for a while, and he always liked to remind me of it. When I’d start drawing up some plans for a bakery, he’d sneer at it. He’d make me feel like my dream wasn’t worthwhile in the least. He thought it was just some silly plan for me to avoid being a real adult,” Harry says, the words coming out slowly. Louis wants to move closer to him but doesn’t. Harry stretches his back, straining until Louis can hear the pop of his spine.

“So after awhile, I started to believe him. I just wanted to be good enough for him, so I pretended like the bakery dream was just nonsense, really. I started doing what he wanted me to. I never wanted to get an MBA. That was what Owen wanted for me. He offered to pay. I felt like I couldn’t say no,” Harry says. Louis stays silent. If he interjects, Harry might stop telling the truth. Sounds from the party are muffled behind Louis’ bedroom door. He prays none of his nosy sisters followed them up here and are listening at his bedroom door.

“I had met Mark in one of my business classes. He was a friend, at first. I swear, it was never my intention for anything else to happen. We’d spend time together after class, kicking around business ideas. He’d always thought the bakery was such a good idea. It was actually amazing, having someone championing for me who barely knew me,” Harry says. He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear and looks into Louis’ eyes. Louis wills himself to look back.

“Mark was the antithesis of Owen. He was so positive about what I wanted to do, and I liked that. One night, he was dropping me off back at home after one of our classes ran late. He insisted on walking me to the door. I kept telling him it was alright, but he wouldn’t let up. He kissed me on the porch, out of nowhere. Quick as could be, I barely had time to react. Owen had been watching us from the front window, and that was it. It all spiraled from there,” Harry continues, letting out a long exhale.

“So you broke up, then? After the kiss?” Louis asks. He can see the story Gemma was painting. Her version lacked details, it lacked all the tiny nuances. Maybe Harry hadn’t told her everything. 

“He walked out on me, then. It was for the best, I think. After that, Mark and I stayed friends, but that was it. Never anything more,” Harry says.

“Gemma made it seem like you were a little untrustworthy in relationships. I reacted so…well, I fled the country because your backstory was reminding me too much of Edwin and what he did to me,” Louis says. Harry tentatively wraps an arm around his shoulders and all Louis wants to do is sink into his touch, to lean his body against Harry. But he can’t, not just yet.

“I told you that I’m not the villain in my story. I like you, Louis. I got on a plane for you despite my better judgment. Almost talked myself out of it yesterday,” Harry says with a laugh. Louis grins at that, disbelief and a twinge of happiness filling his chest.

“Don’t want to get hurt again. Obviously, us living happily ever after together can’t just happen after a few days. Logistically, we are a nightmare. You’ve got your life in Los Angeles, I’ve got mine here. Feel like I came on too strong when I last saw you,” Louis says. Harry reaches out and touches Louis’ face, his fingertips grazing along the edge of Louis’ jawline.

“Did you mean it when you said you were falling in love with me?” Harry asks. Louis just bites his lip and nods, can’t even bring himself to say the words out loud again. They sit together in silence for a bit. The snow is falling thick and fast outside Louis’ bedroom window. A few whoops sound out from downstairs. Louis glances out his window like a spell’s been broken and can see Liam and Zayn tumbling out into the snow, scooping up snowballs. 

“Let’s go join them. I’ve always wanted to ring in the new year with a snowball fight,” Louis says, standing up and pulling Harry up with him.

“Nothing’s really been resolved here, has it?” Harry asks as they walk down the stairs. The party is still in full swing, people chattering everywhere. Louis looks back at Harry and gives a tiny shrug.

“You and me, I think we’re good. We’re in a good spot for right now. Let’s just enjoy tonight,” Louis says, tugging Harry through the crowded house and out the front door. Snow is flying and the wind whips around them as they get outside. Cozy warm light from all the windows spills out onto the snow, casting everyone playing in a soft glow. 

“Look out, Tommo. Zayn’s got a wicked arm on him,” Liam shouts, ducking and rolling just in time for a snowball launched by Zayn to hit Louis right on the arse. Louis ducks down and begins digging together a few snowballs. Harry beats him to it, though, sending a few very well-timed throws back at Zayn and pummelling him until he falls on his back.

“That’s my boy,” Louis crows, high-fiving Harry before throwing a few snowballs sailing at Liam. His air is coming out in puffs while his jumper gets soaked through with wetness. 

“Your boy?” Liam asks, panting as he dodges another snowball lob from Harry, who is cackling like an absolute maniac. 

“There were some misunderstandings. For now, let’s just gang up on him, shall we?” Louis asks, charging right at Harry and stuffing snow down the back of his sweatshirt. Harry lets out a howl, and they fall in a tangle of limbs into the snow. Louis has never felt so cold and warm at the same time in his life. Harry locks his arms around his waist and kisses him once on the mouth, tasting of cider. Louis pulls away in time to see Zayn hop onto Liam’s back and ruffle snow into his hair.

“This is turning out to be a better new year than I thought,” Harry whispers, kissing Louis once more on the cheek. The front door opens and Louis’ mum calls them all in.

“Boys, it’s nearly midnight. Come in, get your sparklers,” his mum calls. Louis leads his group into the house, all of them dripping wet with red faces and hair sticking every which way.

“Have you idiots made up then?” Fizzy asks, sneaking in between Louis and Harry to grab a sparkler. Louis grabs hers out of her hand, taking it for himself, and wiggles his eyebrows.

“We’re getting there, dear Fizzy. Will you continue to call me a traitor?” Louis asks. Harry lightly presses a hand to Louis’ lower back as he grabs a sparkler, thanking Louis’ mum with a wide smile. Fizzy looks between the two of them, and then down to Harry’s hand.

“No, it’s fine. Harry can stay, for now,” she says, smiling sweetly at Harry. 

“Thought winning over one of the Tomlinson sisters would be tough. All four of you are going to be tricky,” Harry mutters. The whole party crowd heads for the backyard, back out into the snow with glasses of wine and champagne in one hand and the sparklers in the other. As the countdown begins to midnight, Lottie and Fizzy run around lighting everyone’s sparklers up. The bursts of light flicker and sparkle in the night. Everyone surrounding Louis is drunk and happy, in love or beginning to be. Harry holds onto him, and Liam and Zayn are wrapped up in each other to his left. They’re all holding their sparklers, lulled into silence by the hints of magic in front of them.

“Okay, everyone has to countdown together. We’re at 30 seconds until 2017,” his mum cries out. She’s with a group of her friends, women she’s known for years who’ve lifted her up and have had her back. Louis thinks about the people in his life at this point in the year. Liam and Zayn, showing up at the airport with no questions asked. Niall, willing to drop everything and pay for Harry’s ticket out here. And Harry, this beautiful boy with a heart much too big for his own body. 

“Ten, nine, eight,” his mum shouts. The whole crowd joins in for the countdown, voices echoing out into the sleepy streets of Doncaster. Time slows a little, as the seconds tick closer to midnight. Louis closes his eyes for a moment, fully content with Harry’s arms wrapped around him. 

“Hey Louis,” Harry whispers into his ear as the countdown dwindles to four seconds, three seconds.

“Hey Harry,” Louis whispers back, turning around to face him. Harry’s nose is red and running, his eyes watery from the cold. His hair is plastered to the side of his head, and he’s never looked more beautiful to Louis. 

“Remember how I said not to fall in love with me?” he asks. _Two, one!_ At the stroke of midnight, everyone bursts into cheers, but Harry holds one finger up to Louis’ lips.

“Changed my mind on that. Fall all you want. Think I’d like to be there to catch you,  _ love _ ,” Harry says, the word ‘love’ coursing through Louis’ veins like fire on a cold night. Louis pulls Harry close to him, kissing him hungrily without a care about who might be watching. So what if his neighbors are scandalized? Harry’s just told him he’s up for falling a bit in love, and that’s the very best way Louis can ever imagine starting a brand new year. 

“Get a room, you two,” Zayn leers. Harry and Louis break their kiss, hugging each other instead while their sparklers burn bright, bright, brighter before burning out completely.

“Happy New Year!” Louis hears Phoebe yell out. The twins are up much past their bedtime. Harry shouts with her and soon, the whole crowd joins in. Someone’s setting off fireworks somewhere down the road. They all watch, oohing and awwing over the colors that light up the sky. 

“What’s next for the year?” Harry murmurs in Louis’ ear. Louis stares out at the sky, all the explosions glittering before his eyes. He has no idea what could possibly be next, but in this moment, he’s not afraid at all.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**19**

 

_ 7 MONTHS LATER _

 

Louis has lugged the last of the boxes into his new flat. His mum and sisters helped him with the move to Leeds, and he’s ready for the chance to really start over. Lottie and Fizzy are staying overnight while his mum takes the twins back to Doncaster. He hugs them goodbye and then faces both his sisters. They’re sprawled on his new couch, the one Harry picked out over Skype 3 months ago.

“I like the gray best,” Harry had said, snacking on avocados from his apartment in Los Angeles. Louis had squinted at the screen, flicking through the other colour options.

“You don’t think gray’s too boring? I mean in terms of colour, you can do a lot with it. Can match it to just about everything,” Louis had said. Harry laughed.

“Says the budding graphic designer,” Harry chuckled. Louis’ new flat would be impeccably decorated, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Tell me what kind of couch you’ll be having, then, Harold? What can I expect when I come visit my aspiring pastry chef at the end of a long school day?” Louis had asked. It all had felt so far-off then, their planning and scheming. It’d taken them only a few months after New Year’s to realize they couldn’t be without each other. Harry brought up moving to England in February, after Louis had flown in for Valentine’s Day. He’d greeted Louis at the door of his apartment with a bouquet of roses, wearing nothing but a pink frilly apron.

“I baked, we’re going to have so much sex tonight, and… I’m thinking of moving to England,” he’d said in a cheery voice. Louis was stunned. He ate the cookies, fucked Harry senseless, and started dreaming of a life they could have together in the same country. 

“Louis, where are we sleeping tonight? My bones feel like spaghetti from all the moving. Why do you have so much rubbish?” Fizzy asks from the pristine gray couch that matches the navy and green pillows, which complements the oak kitchen island. 

“Guest room, loves. Go get your pajamas on. I’m knackered myself. and you two have to come with me to school tomorrow to help me get my books,” Louis says, leading his sisters to their room. When Louis settles himself in his own bed, he opens his school’s website on his laptop. He’d quit his job at the insurance agency only three weeks ago, wanting to save up as much money as he could before making the move. University of Leeds has a graduate design program, and Harry had urged Louis to apply after flipping through his sketchbook one night. Louis never thought he’d get in, and when he did, it was like something sparking inside of him. The idea that he could begin again, to start a whole new career, was such a wild idea. 

Harry had been so excited that he’d started looking for pastry programs in Leeds, too. He got into a small program at the Leeds City College and couldn’t wait to get started. They’d agreed that if they both moved to the city, they’d live in separate places for now. Individuals, with their own living spaces, doing their own thing. Louis was looking forward to Harry finally moving his things out here. His flat was only 20 minutes away. 

“Will we be exclusively shagging at your place or mine?” Louis had asked Harry sleepily at the end of March. Harry had made the trip out to London, letting Louis lead him on a tour of the city. They’d spent a whole day doing all the touristy things Louis hated and capped off the night back at Louis’ flat. Louis could not get enough of Harry, would nearly cry from how good he felt when they wrapped up in each other in bed. Harry preferred fucking him slowly, thrusting in deep and taking his time. Louis always wanted more, always was urging him to go faster, but he never did. 

“If we shag at mine, I can make you really good scones in the morning,” Harry had whispered back to Louis, his head on Louis’ chest. 

“But if we shag at mine, I can sketch you naked. That could get really fun,” Louis had said before they both fell asleep in a heap. 

Louis closes his laptop now, settling into sleep for the first time in his new city. In another two weeks, Harry would be here. Louis had already enlisted Zayn and Liam to help him move all his things in. 

He can imagine them all sitting in Harry’s empty kitchen, sharing slices of pizza and maybe calling Niall back in California. He can see Harry and himself lounging in Harry’s new bed, watching episodes of the Great British Bake-Off and yelling at every twist and turn. He can see himself and Harry maybe, just maybe, actually making it as a couple and going back to California at Christmas and Donny at New Year’s. The possibilities are endless, really. 

After all, they’re only getting started.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays all! I'd love to hear what you thought of this fic in the comments.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at http://hazzayoudoing.tumblr.com


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